


My True Love Gave To Me

by colazitron



Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-20 14:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: The twelve days of Christmas with Harry and Fionn.





	1. a partridge in a pear tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ragetwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragetwitch/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with the persons depicted herein, nor is this meant to represent reality in any meaningful way. Please heed the fourth wall etc.
> 
> So the plan is for this to be a 12-part daily-update fluff-fest. Let's see, shall we?

Fionn’s not usually the kind of person to keep his phone on him at all times, especially not on Christmas Day. He's surrounded by all his nearest and dearest, so there's no need. If work tries to reach him now, it can, frankly, wait.

Except -- Harry's up north with his family, and even as Fionn marvels that they got here so fast, a part of him yearns to be in Cheshire with Harry, or for Harry to be here with him. Just anywhere so long as it's where Harry is, really.

It's a new thing for Fionn, this whole bit where he constantly misses Harry. Given that they've hardly spent more than a month together since France and even that wasn’t at one time, he thought being apart would be easy. He's always missed Harry a little bit, and he's always had a little bit of a crush on him, but apparently a few fucks and some emotional conversations about how much they like each other are enough for Fionn to want to be with him all the time. They were enough for them to agree that they wanted to try this whole “being in a relationship” thing, so maybe Fionn should have seen this coming.

Who spends a year apart with not-exactly-regular contact and then after a fortnight together decides they want to be committed to one another anyway? It's mad, is what it is. But being with Harry, even if it's been mostly a theoretical exercise so far, between Fionn’s shoot in Morocco and Harry's touring all over, has made Fionn an amount of happy he's almost embarrassed to think about.

He doesn't want to be that person who only feels complete when they're in a relationship or something, but that's not really what being with Harry feels like. It's just like the nicest surprise gift ever, basically. He doesn't need Harry for his life to be good, or whole, or anything, but that doesn't mean that being with Harry doesn’t add an extra layer. Could he do without it? Sure, but why should he want to when it makes him this happy?

So Fionn makes a compromise - keeps his phone on him, but turns it to silent, which means he's checking it every other minute to make sure he hasn't missed Harry trying to get in touch. He wouldn't want to accidentally blow him off on Christmas Day, of all days, even if Harry more than anyone understands texting back a week later and wouldn't hold it against Fionn at all. Fionn has yet to receive a reply to his text from this morning himself and he doesn't feel slighted by it or anything, so it's really not at all rational, but it seems love really does make you a bit dumb.

God, love.

Fionn is actually in love with Harry.

Somehow Fionn built Harry up to be this fantasy of a person, and when they saw each other again in the summer, it turned out that Harry actually is all the things Fionn imagined him to be. He's sweet, and funny, and understanding, and smart, and gorgeous, and so good at sex. And sure, he's also moody and passive-aggressive, and he comes off flaky and insensitive sometimes. But Fionn can be defensive and stand-off-ish, has a tendency to overreact and get into his head too much. So neither of them are perfect, so what? So far they've made it work. Fionn’s not looking to start a family, he just wants to have a good time and call the guy he's in love with his boyfriend.

When his phone does finally have a message for him, they're just about to sit down for lunch. It must be the same for Harry, because he's sent a string of photos, three of which are of the set table. It looks a little bit like something out of a magazine, and the selfie of Harry, Gemma, and Anne all cuddled together looks like the perfect family to go with that. Fionn can't help but grin to himself, because Harry's photogenic family has always amused him. Anne and Gemma have that same kind of “regular people, only more wonderful” quality to them that Harry does. That Stepford perfection without any of the horror. The last two photos are of their tree - more country residence photo spread chic with its traditional red and gold, a few glittery ribbon bows just fun enough to give it character and still be elegant - and a close-up of a bird ornament.

 

**H**

Merry Christmas from all of us! I put that one up for you especially. Couldn't find a pear tree, but I think this counts, what do you say?

 

A pear tree? Harry's always a bit eccentric, but what in the world would he need a pear tree for? And what's supposed to ‘count'?

“Harry says ‘Merry Christmas’,” he says, looking up from the phone and gets up to get a better photo of their own tree. It's covered in tinsel, because Sonny decided that was the way to go this year, and there are a few holo-shimmery baubles hung up in between that Hattie brought over. Their lights are blue and pink, from years ago when mum said white was boring.

“Oh, tell them Merry Christmas back from us. We're all looking forward to seeing him in a few days,” dad says, smiling at Fionn in that indulgent way of his.

It’s not that Fionn’s never been in a relationship, or had a boyfriend, or even brought someone over some time over Christmas, but it is a bit different when who you’re bringing is Harry Styles. When you’re mostly dating long distance and you met on set of a Christopher Nolan movie - or at a casting for one, at least. They didn’t stay in touch after that, so Fionn thinks it’s still fair to say they met on set. It’s where they spent any meaningful amount of time together for the first time. It’s as good as the only time they spent any meaningful amount of time together.

“That for loverboy?” Maisie asks, flinging a heavy arm around Fionn’s shoulders and leaning in for a look at his screen just as he presses send.

Fionn holds the phone against his chest automatically. They’ve all been grown up and sort of moved out for long enough now that he forgets what it was really like with his two big sisters around all the time, being the baby of the family for a good while, but they never really let him forget for long.

“Harry, yeah,” he says.

“Wait, wait, wait, was that--? Let me see,” she says, grabbing his wrist and pulling at it. She used to always be stronger than him when it came down to arm wrestling, what with all her aerial dance and yoga stuff, but ever since Dunkirk he’s kept up a little bit of a workout routine, and he grins at her when she can't make him budge. She only rolls her eyes, digs her fingers into his side to make him squirm away reflexively and then grabs his phone with her other hand.

“Ha!”

“Fuck you!”

“Language, Fionn!” dad calls, and Fionn opens his mouth to protest automatically, but then only sighs.

“Oh, it’s locked?” Maisie complains, and hands his phone back with a petulant pout on her face.

“Obviously it’s locked,” Fionn says and rolls his eyes. “What did you want anyway?”

“I just wanted to see that last photo he sent you. Was that a partridge?”

“A what now?” Fionn asks, unlocking his phone and bringing the photo of the bird ornament back up.

“Oh my god, that is a partridge!” she says, leaning in against his shoulder again, and laughs excitedly. “And he said he couldn’t find a pear tree, that’s so adorable! Aw, Fionn.”

She reaches up to ruffle his hair with a grin. Sonny’s watching them from his place by the tree where he’d just been leafing through a new comic of his, and it takes another moment or two for Fionn’s mind to catch up and connect all the dots.

_On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree._

Fionn feels his cheeks go hot with a blush and he ducks his head, knowing full well that there’s no hiding his reaction with three people staring at him.

“What’s going on? Why’s Fionn blushing?” he hears Hattie ask from over by the door. Make that four people.

“Harry loooooves him,” Maisie teases and laughs when Fionn reaches out to swat at her and misses.

“Shut up,” he whines, cheeks still hot and lips curling into an involuntary grin.

It’s not like it’s new information, and it’s not like Harry’s really insinuating they’re each other’s _true loves_ or anything like that, but it’s so cheesy and yet so sweet. So perfectly Harry.

“Okay, well, lunch is done anyway,” Hattie says and sets down the dish of potatoes on the table.

Sonny cheers and jumps up from his place by the tree, and the topic of Harry is put to the side. Fionn glances at his screen, and types another quick message out before putting his phone away again, sitting down with his family with a grin.

 

**H**

Happy Christmas to you lot too! Dad says hi and he’s looking forward to seeing you. I am too.

❤

  



	2. two turtle doves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family, a natural park, and a tattoo

Breakfast on the 26th is just Sonny, dad, and Fionn, Maisie and Hattie already back with their respective boyfriends. Sonny is explaining a video game his friend got for Christmas and he's going to go over to play later in the afternoon, and Fionn is nodding along, pretending any of Sonny's comments about strategy and stats and fight mechanics mean anything to him. It always makes Fionn feel like he's missing out on something though, being away from home the way he often is, when he hears Sonny chatter about his life. Even though he has three older siblings, it must be a bit like he's growing up an only child, now that Fionn’s barely home either. Mostly it makes him feel bad because when he's not there, he doesn't feel bad at all. He gets swept up in his day, and his work, and his friends and it feels awful to admit that he doesn’t think about what Sonny's up to all that much, especially when he gets so excited to share something with Fionn.

So when he's there at least, he makes an effort. Listens even when whatever Sonny's talking about means nothing to him, smiles, and stays into the early afternoon when Sonny's meant to leave for his friend's place. He knows it's not his job to be there always, he's not Sonny's parent after all, he's his brother. But sometimes it still feels like it's not enough, like he should be doing more. Like he's selfish for not coming back home.

“Bye, Fionn, see you soon!” Sonny calls, already halfway out the door, waving carelessly over his shoulder. Fionn's probably not doing so badly, really, on the whole brotherhood front. Sonny doesn't seem to hate him at least.

“You've got everything you need?” dad asks, watching Fionn slip on his own shoes.

“Yeah, I've got everything. Didn't bring much,” Fionn says, straightening back up and grabbing his coat.

“Got everything for tomorrow too? You're good to take the train?”

Fionn smiles and leans in to hug his dad for a moment.

“Yeah, dad, I'm good. I've got my ticket in my wallet and on my phone. Harry's coming to pick me up in Manchester and we'll drive back down the morning of the 28th. We'll be fine.”

Dad smiles and shakes his head a little.

“Let me worry about you a bit. You're all grown up now! Time goes by so fast.”

Fionn glances out the door where Sonny just vanished and nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

“He's doing alright too, you don't have to worry about him,” Dad says, righting the hood of Fionn's coat and then putting his hand on Fionn's shoulder. “We're alright, the two of us. You don't need to worry your soft little heart about us, you hear me.”

Fionn nods a little and leans in for another hug. It still sometimes strikes him how strange it is that he's almost on eye-level with his dad now.

“Thank you, dad.”

Dad pats him on the back and then gently pulls back.

“Before I forget, I've got something for you,” dad says, reaching behind himself for the table where they keep all their mail, and turns back to Fionn to hand him a large envelope.

“What's this?”

“Your Harry sent it. Asked me to give it to you today,” dad says.

Fionn turns the brown envelope over, but there's no indicator as to what's inside it. Dad seems amused by it somehow, though he'd be amused by Harry setting this up alone, it doesn't mean he knows what's inside.

“Do you know what it is?”

“Not a clue,” dad says. “But he's quite something, that boy of yours.”

Fionn smiles to himself involuntarily.

“Yeah.”

“Well, go on, open it. If it's dirty you don't have to show me,” dad says.

Fionn groans, but tears the envelope open at the flap anyway.

“Why would you say that,” he complains.

Dad laughs, but when Fionn peeks inside the envelope, it's just a few sheets of paper. The first one is a letter, made out to Fionn, informing him that a donation to Pensthorpe Natural Park has been made in his name to help Operation Turtle Dove, the effort to save habitats and otherwise promote the welfare of turtle doves nesting in the UK.

 _On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me two turtle doves_.

“Nothing dirty then?” dad asks, grinning when Fionn looks up from the letter and the certificate that came with it.

“No, nothing dirty,” Fionn says. “He made a donation to a natural park in my name.”

“Well, that's… sweet of him,” dad says, clearly bemused.

Fionn can practically feel the way his smile turns a little besotted.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think he's doing a, like, a thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

“A twelve days of Christmas thing.”

“What, like the song?” dad asks, grinning.

“I think so, yeah. A partridge yesterday, a natural park that saves turtle doves today...”

Dad claps him on the shoulder with a wide grin.

“Well, I look forward to seeing what else he comes up with then.”

Fionn tries not to worry about maids a-milking, or lords a-leaping and grins back.

“We'll see you on the 30 th . I'm sure there'll be more to tell then,” he says.

“Alright. Off you go,” dad says, and pats Fionn's shoulder a final time.

Fionn smiles back at him and then hops down the stairs to the street, fiddling with his phone. He wants to call Harry, but he also wants to facetime him, so he makes himself wait until he's back home, barely slips out of his shoes and coats before he's dialling Harry, plugging the headphones in while it rings.

“Hiii,” Harry trills when he picks up, smiling widely. “Did you get your present?”

“I did,” Fionn says with a laugh. “You're mad.”

“Hang on,” Harry grins, and shifts the phone somewhere, so he can let go of it. “I want to show you something else.”

“Um, I've seen that before,” Fionn says, dumbstruck when Harry reaches for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one by one.

Harry laughs.

“Not this, you haven't,” he says, and then slips his left arm out of his shirt, lifting it and twisting so Fionn can see the side of his ribcage where his tattoos are. There, next to the bird cage, is a new addition. A pair of birds in flight.

“Are you mad?” Fionn asks, voice sounding about as awed to his own ears as the rush of blood in them makes him feel. “Are those--?”

“Turtle doves,” Harry says, and lowers his arm again, slipping his shirt back on. “You like them?”

It seems like too big a gesture too soon. Something permanent on Harry's skin only half a year after they started seeing each other, when they've only actually _seen_ each other so little. It's so much, and Fionn has no idea how he can ever keep up with the way Harry opens his heart and wants to show and give it all to Fionn.

But does he like it? Yeah.

“I love them,” he says. “Maybe I should get a matching pair. Or, like, a nest.”

“To come home to?” Harry asks with a big grin.

Fionn nods, making him laugh.

“That would be the strangest romantic tattoo anyone's gotten, I'm sure.”

“I'm sure someone has gotten something stranger,” Fionn protests. “Anything can hold romantic significance to someone!”

Harry laughs again.

“You're always so pragmatic.”

“Take it or leave it,” Fionn says with a shrug.

Harry's answering smile is a lot softer now.

“Definitely take it.”

“Sap.”

“Hm, yeah. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Fionn says. “But I'll be there tomorrow. And then we've got two weeks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says and sighs happily. “I can't wait. I'm going to fuck you five ways from Sunday.”

“You're going to make me wait till Sunday?” Fionn says, trying to mask the flush of heat that runs through his body when Harry says it.

Harry grins, eyes glittering even over the video call.

“Might be negotiable.”

“I'll think of something, then,” Fionn says, and then settles into his old couch further, getting comfortable.

“Tell me about your day.”

Harry smiles and does, his voice filling Fionn's ears and almost making him forget that he's alone in his flat and Harry's a good few miles away. It's always like that when they have the time to properly talk, but it'll still be nice to see Harry again tomorrow. Hearing and sight are fine and all, but Fionn can't wait to touch, and smell, and taste.


	3. three French hens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a baby, a flamingo sweater, and a French classic

Fionn gets off the train in Manchester with his head down, pulling his text conversation with Harry up on his phone, contemplating if he should just ring him instead. Harry's probably waiting outside in his car somewhere, so as to not cause a minor incident, and Fionn needs to know where to go. He'll be waiting for Fionn to get in touch, surely, but calling would probably be easier. It's just Fionn's first instinct to text everything these days.

Before he can really come to a decision either way, he's startled by a touch to his arm.

“Fionn?”

Fionn puts on his politest smile and looks up, face melting into a genuine smile when he recognises Harry's sister, bundled up in a coat and bobble hat. Her hair peeks out from it in a slightly messy braid on one side.

“Gemma, hi,” he says and lets her pull him into a hug. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” she says. “Harry's having a minor meltdown in the kitchen so I'm taking over the shuttle service for him.”

“He's cooking?” Fionn asks, and falls into step beside her as she leads him off the platform.

Gemma hums, lips curling into an amused smile.

“He insisted,” she says. “He told mum it's so she doesn't have to, but we all know he just wants to impress you. And mum's helping, anyway.”

Fionn bites down on his lip to keep from grinning too much, suddenly hyper-aware that Gemma knows he's in love with her brother.

“He didn't need to do that,” he mumbles.

Gemma laughs.

“There's not been an opportunity to show off that Harry's let go by in his entire life. He's not about to start now.”

“Well, I'm sorry it means you have to drive me around,” Fionn says. He's only met Gemma twice before, and he can't quite shake the meeting-the-parents nerves around her yet, even if she's not Harry's parent.

Gemma waves him off.

“I don't mind. It gives me an opportunity to get to know you better!” she says with a sly grin that only worries Fionn a little bit.

Despite that, their conversation on the drive to Holmes Chapel is lovely. Gemma's whip smart in a way that Harry isn't – quick and exact where Harry tends to meander in his thoughts, and Fionn enjoys the back-and-forth even when it's just about the weather, or London traffic, or Harry's many faults. Fionn's used to an older sister's particular brand of exasperated fondness to know his way around her teasing, at least.

“We're back!” Gemma calls into the house. “I brought you back a present from Manchester, H! Found him traipsing around the station!”

“I'd barely gotten off the train,” Fionn protests, untangling his scarf from around his neck.

“If it's not Fionn, I'm not interested!” Harry calls back, and Gemma laughs as Fionn blushes.

He hands Gemma his coat for her to hang up in the coat closet when she holds out her hand for it, and bends down to undo the laces on his shoes, lining them up carefully next to all the others by the door. Fionn can already spy some tasteful Christmas decorations, and whatever Harry's doing in the kitchen smells absolutely divine. Before he can venture further into the house, Anne appears in the hallway, smiling warmly.

“Hello, Fionn,” she says, reaching for him to greet him with two cheek kisses. “We're so happy you're joining us today.”

“I'm very glad to be here,” Fionn says. “Your house is lovely.”

“Oh, thank you. We always have a bit too much fun decorating,” Anne says with a smile. “Harry's room is the last one on the right upstairs if you want to put your things down?”

“Um, yes, thank you,” Fionn says, and takes his backpack back up.

“Come find us in the kitchen when you're done,” Anne says, and leaves him with a pat to his arm.

“Do you want me to show you up?” Gemma offers.

“That'd be great,” Fionn says.

It's always a bit odd, to move through a house you don't know yet for the first time, and Fionn's glad he can trail after Gemma, letting his eyes roam over photos and art prints decorating the walls. Harry's room upstairs is not that of a teenager who comes home occasionally, no posters on the wall but another framed art print, a queen-sized bed, and pretty light-blue wallpaper. It's orderly, but there's a few things stacked in a shelf that make it obvious it's not just a guest room either, some old photos and trophies from football tournaments, a medal for a kids' marathon. It's Harry's room, but it's clearly been updated at some point in the last years.

“Bathroom's opposite Harry's room, I'm next to it. There's a study next to this room and then mum's room right by the stairs,” Gemma explains. “I don't know if you want to freshen up or anything?”

“Um,” Fionn says and looks down at himself. He's not super dressed up, but he's in a nice jumper and a pair of nice jeans.

Gemma laughs.

“That wasn't me telling you that you look a mess. You're fine,” she says.

“Okay,” he says, a little relieved. “I'll be fine then. The train wasn't that crowded.”

“Alright then,” Gemma says. “Let's go find my little brother.”

As if on cue there's a crash and something that's definitely Harry swearing, followed by Anne's droll “language, Harry, please.”

Gemma and Fionn share a grin, and then he follows her back down the stairs, around two corners, and finds himself in the open-plan kitchen. There are large windows and a set of terrace doors that lead out into the back garden, the room lit up with sunshine from outside.

Harry's by the stove, arms of a grey Henley shirt rolled up to his elbows, hair a little frazzled from the heat by the stove. He looks like something out of a film, the scene where the girl finds her boyfriend surprisingly cooking up a storm for one of their dates, and when he turns to Fionn to smile, he can practically hear the soundtrack kick up a notch. Fionn's life is so fucking surreal.

“Fionn,” Harry says, eyes and smile soft, and Fionn moves forward to meet him without thinking.

Harry's thumb brushes over his cheek as he reaches to cup the side of his head, Fionn's eyes falling shut easily when their lips meet in a kiss that's maybe a little too lingering to be just a kiss hello.

“Hi,” Harry says, voice low and intimate when he pulls back, fingers brushing back a lock of Fionn's hair that probably didn't need adjusting.

“Hi,” Fionn says back, a hand on Harry's side, the warmth of Harry's body underneath the fabric of his shirt settling something restless in Fionn's chest he hasn't even noticed until just now.

“Glad you could make it.”

“Where else would I be?” Fionn asks, and leans up for another quick kiss before something on the stove sizzles a little too sharply and Harry turns away again.

“What are you making?” Fionn asks, sidling up next to him.

“Coq au vin,” Harry says, lips twitching up into a smile he's trying to fight off.

Fionn grins and nudges Harry's side with his elbow because he's _a child_.

“ _Three_ coqs au vin,” Anne corrects, somewhat exasperated.

“We're ten people!” Harry insists, but Fionn catches the way his gaze lands on him before it moves on to his mother and bites his lip against his own ridiculous grin.

 _On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me three French hens_.

“Technically not hens,” he points out quietly.

“Creative license,” Harry insists.

“We've still got leftovers from Christmas Day, H, you're taking all of this with you to London. I'm not having it take up all of my fridge,” Anne says.

Harry sighs.

“Yes, mum, I already said I would.”

“Lux hardly counts as a full person, and you know Lou always eats like she's a toddler herself. Far too skinny, that one,” Anne goes on.

“I just want to be prepared, mum, let me figure it out,” Harry says and wraps an arm around Anne's shoulders when she's close enough to reach. He presses a kiss to her hair, and Fionn smiles to himself.

“It'll be fine, mum.”

Anne sighs exasperatedly and shakes her head a little.

“You're going to make me go grey prematurely one of these days.”

“You'll be stunning with grey hair too,” Harry says.

Anne slaps him in the chest and then pulls away from his side again.

“That won't work on me, darling, I changed your nappies,” she says, dry as anything. Then she turns to Fionn. “Come help me set the table, Fionn. Let's leave Harry to it.”

Harry squeezes his hand and then sends him off, and Fionn isn't a good enough liar inside his own head to pretend he doesn't feel a small amount of trepidation.

“Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to ask you your intentions,” Anne says with another smile, the tilt of her lips familiar in the way that Harry smirks at him when he's being cheeky. “I'm sure they're as honourable as the moment calls for.”

Fionn stares at her with wide eyes for a second, and then tries to will down the blush.

Anne laughs.

“I can already see why Harry likes you,” she says. “And I've no need for any sort of interrogation. He's an adult, and he can make his own decisions. Now, should we go with white or red for the table cloth?”

Anne pulls open a drawer and lifts a cream white cloth with a gold detail and a dark red one out of it.

“The red would hide any stains better, but I love the gold on the white,” she goes on.

Fionn steps closer and peers inside the drawer.

“How about the dark blue?”

Anne looks at him and then the table, as though she's trying to imagine it covered in dark blue cloth and ladden with plates and glasses and food.

“Yes, why not?” she says. “Fantastic idea. We'll go with blue.”

True to her word, Anne doesn't seem to want anything but his help with the table, conversation between them flowing naturally. It's easier than Fionn thought, or maybe feared, to be here with Harry's family, ahead of everyone else who's coming. That'll be another thing, trying to find his place in the extended circle, but here with Anne, Gemma, and Harry, Fionn feels welcome and warm and part of it all.

When they're done with the table Anne goes to make them cups of tea and then comes back with Scrabble tucked under her arm, grinning as she asks him to join her in the living room. Harry and Gemma are squabbling in the kitchen, and Fionn can tell from the fond smile on Anne's face that she misses the sound of the two of them here together when they're not here. At least dad has Sonny.

Well, it's not Fionn's place to wonder, but he sits down on the floor opposite her around the couch table, and invests in the game of Scrabble like he usually doesn't. It's not his favourite game and he isn't really any good at it, but Anne clearly delights in it, and honestly playing with people who really love a game is always a bit contagious.

After Anne's beaten him twice and is on the way to doing it a third time, Harry comes in and leans down to put his hands on Fionn's shoulders.

“Can I steal him for a bit? Ben and Meri will be here any second, I want to go freshen up.”

Obviously, Harry doesn't need Fionn for that, but they've also not had a moment to themselves yet, nor are they likely to get one soon.

“Of course, of course. I've monopolised him long enough. It was lovely playing with you, Fionn,” Anne says.

Fionn laughs a little.

“Oh, I'm absolute rubbish at this game, you basically wiped the floor with me.”

Anne laughs as well, but doesn't contradict him, the twinkle in her eye indicating that she knows that full-well but would have been too polite to point it out.

“Mum's better than everyone, don't take it to heart,” Harry says, and then takes Fionn's hand, pulling him up. “We'll be down in a bit.”

“Take your time. I'll manage to entertain our guests for a moment or two.”

Harry laughs and leans in to kiss Anne's cheek, then puts his hand on the small of Fionn's back to guide him towards the stairs.

“Was that alright? I didn't mean to, like, abandon you, but you seemed to be having a good time and the food--”

“Relax, it's fine,” Fionn interrupts. “Your mum's great.”

Harry beams.

“Yeah, she is,” he says.

Fionn smiles back at him and follows Harry into his room.

The door's only just shut behind them when Harry pushes Fionn up against it, slanting their mouths together in a kiss that starts off hungry and only gets wetter. Harry's lips are insistent and his tongue is in Fionn's mouth before he's even figured out what to do with his hands. Fionn sighs into it, lets his body go a little lax and finally cards his fingers through Harry's hair before wrapping his arms around his neck, holding him close. Harry follows and shuffles close enough so they're pressed together from thigh to chest, Harry warm and firm against Fionn's front. Their lips smacking together sound loud in the sudden quiet of Harry's room, every shift of weight accompanied by the rustle of their clothes, all of it undercut with their heavy breathing, but it only makes Fionn hold on tighter and kiss Harry a little bit harder, getting lost in the sensation.

God, but he's missed this.

Technically they did spend a day together when Harry got back from LA before he drove up here, and they mostly spent it doing this, talking, eating, and then this again – with a few less clothes. Fionn still feels like he hasn't kissed Harry in weeks, like he needs to memorise the shape of his lips and the taste of his tongue while he still can.

When Harry pulls back Fionn has no idea how much time has passed, but his heart is beating faster and his blood hums with satisfaction.

“Hi,” he says, making Harry huff a soundless laugh.

“Hi,” Harry says back.

Fionn leans in for another kiss, but this one stays chaste, even if it takes them a while to end it again.

“I really do want to get changed actually,” Harry finally says, like he's actually sorry for it.

“I know who I'm dating,” Fionn says with a laugh, and then reaches up to rub at his eyes. “I'll get changed too. I've been lounging around in this a while now. Probably should look somewhat put-together next to you.”

“You're fine,” Harry insists.

Fionn hums a little and the steps away from Harry towards his backpack.

“I am, but I also stole one of your jumpers,” he says with a grin.

Harry grins back and practically bumps into Fionn's back following him across the room.

“Which one?”

“A black one,” Fionn says.

Harry rolls his eyes.

“Oh good, I only have two of those.”

Fionn laughs and bends down to unzip the backpack.

“You have like twenty of everything, Harry.”

“Nothing's actually the same!” Harry protests.

Fionn levels him with a look and then gestures at his legs.

“You have like five of this exact pair of jeans.”

“Okay, well, jeans are different.”

“Hm, sure,” Fionn says, and pulls out the jumper, holding it up for Harry to inspect.

“Oh, the flamingo one. You do love that one,” Harry says.

“It's fun,” Fionn says, and then reaches up to rub at his eyes again.

Harry frowns a little.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just. My contacts are a bit dry today. I think I'll just go with glasses instead,” Fionn says.

“Honestly, contacts sound like a hassle,” Harry says and steps away towards the wardrobe.

“Depends on what I'm doing,” Fionn says, and then pulls his own sweater up by the back of his neck. Bathroom was across the hall, right? If he's changing he could have a quick wash as well. He grabs his contact stuff and slaps Harry's butt as he passes him, laughing when Harry squawks in indignation.

“Uncalled for behaviour, Finley,” Harry calls after him.

Fionn only grins to himself, setting his contact dish and cleaning solution down on the counter. He takes care of his contacts quickly and then runs a wet cloth over his chest and under his arms, patting himself dry before he slips on Harry's flamingo jumper. He does really love that one. The fact that Harry really loves seeing him in his clothes is a great bonus too.

Back in Harry's room he fishes the presents he brought – mostly chocolates, since he doesn't know anyone that well, and age-appropriate toys for Ruby and Lux – out of his backpack and then joins Harry by the door.

“You really didn't need to bring presents.”

“I really did,” Fionn says. “My dad would kill me if I hadn't.”

“Well, you're adorable, and everyone's going to love you,” Harry says.

“That's the plan,” Fionn answers, and lets Harry take another kiss before they make their way back downstairs.

Ben, Meredith, and baby Ruby are already sat in the living room when they make their appearance, and while Harry catches up with the couple, Fionn finds himself sitting with Anne and Ruby, playing peek-a-boo to make Ruby laugh, bouncing her on his knees when Anne hands her over, and eventually letting her pudgy little fists cling to his fingers so she can toddle across the room and explore when she starts to get restless.

He's always surprised by how fast toddlers move when they want to get somewhere, and he scoops her up to steer her away from sharp edges and corners probably a bit more than is necessary, but she seems content to let him turn her around and walk her back over to the sofa whenever he feels like they're getting a bit far out of sight. Neither Meri nor Ben complain, at any rate, and Anne keeps on smiling at him, so he figures he's doing alright. He's been around babies a bit from cousins and friends of the family and such, but Sonny is the only baby he was ever around a lot and he was too young to really want to remember anything. Most baby care is really just quite self-explanatory. First, make sure they don't accidentally kill themselves. That, at least, Fionn can handle.

Lux takes to explaining how to properly play with Ruby when Lou, Tom, and her show up half an hour later, and maybe Fionn's hiding with the kids a little, but when they're all sat around the table once Gemma's boyfriend shows up, he finds it easy to join their conversation, not as much of an outsider as he feared he might be.

Harry's hand on his thigh underneath the table is both impolite and very welcome. From the indulgent and amused way everyone regards them, Fionn figures they're forgiven.

It's nice, this. Being with Harry's family and close friends. It's warm, and cosy, and steady. The whole day feels almost out of a storybook, except then Fionn stubs his toe, and Ruby chucks up part of her dinner on Harry's shoulder, and Anne gets her necklace caught on her pretty blouse.

Except it's real.

Fionn doesn't stop smiling all day.

Except for a minute or so after he stubbed his toe. That shit hurts. The boyfriend to kiss you better sort of makes up for it though. So, really, Fionn doesn't stop smiling all day.


	4. four calling birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phone calls, curries, and negotiations

Fionn hasn't even really put their bags down in the master bedroom in Harry's London house yet when his phone rings. It seems like some sort of omen, the fact that they get back to London and phones start ringing, so Fionn digs it out of his pocket with a heavy sigh.

It's Anne.

“Hi?” Fionn picks up. “Did we forget something?”

“Hi, Fionn,” Anne says, cheerfully. “No, no, nothing of the sort. So you've made it back?”

“Yeah, just walked in the door five minutes ago. Harry's downstairs putting away the leftovers. Do you want me to fetch him?”

“No, no, I wanted to speak to you,” she says.

“Oh?”

“Hm, yeah,” Anne says, and then doesn't say anything more for a few moments. The wait goes on long enough that Fionn almost breaks the silence himself, but then Anne starts speaking again.

“Well, I really just wanted to thank you for coming.”

“Oh. Of course. It's been my pleasure entirely. Thank you so much for inviting me,” Fionn says, feels his back go straighter at the words like she can tell from his voice that he's all slumped over. The drive was a bit more taxing than he anticipated and he wasn't even the one driving!

“Oh, of course! Come back any time, darling,” she says.

“Thank you,” Fionn says again, and then the silence is back.

Anne sighs.

“Listen, I know this is a little awkward, but I just wanted to say that I'm really happy you and H found each other. He lights up around you, and while I don't know you that well yet, I can tell you more than like him.”

Fionn swallows heavily.

“Yeah,” he manages to say. “I do more than like him. Thank you.”

Anne hums contemplatively.

“Alright, well. I'm sorry if that was too heavy--”

“No! No, it's alright. Thank you.”

“I just wanted to let you know. I'm glad he's got you, and I hope to see more of you soon.”

“Yeah. Me too. Harry's birthday isn't far off.”

Anne laughs.

“You're right, it's not. Every year January goes by a lot quicker than I think it will.”

Fionn laughs a little as well.

“Well, I'll let you go,” Anne says. “Give him a kiss from me, and don't be a stranger, alright?”

“Yeah, alright. Thank you. Have a good evening.”

“You too, darling.”

The line goes dead and Fionn stares at the screen of his phone that tells him he was talking to Anne for only two minutes and twelve seconds. The odd warmth wrapped around Fionn's heart feels like it should have taken longer to settle there.

When the screen goes black again, Fionn tosses the phone onto the fluffy duvet on the bed and sets about unpacking their things quickly, itching again, suddenly, to go join Harry downstairs. Before he can, Harry walks in the door, shimmying out of his skinny jeans before he climbs onto the bed and lets his limbs give out underneath him so he's lying in a slightly crumpled heap on top of the duvet.

“You good?” Fionn asks, turning away from the laundry basket in the corner.

Harry groans.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes closed. “Just knackered. Driving was exhausting.”

Fionn climbs onto the bed himself and cards a hand through Harry's hair, tickling the lobe of his ear for a moment before going back to running the pads of his fingers over Harry's scalp.

Harry groans again the moment his eyes open.

“God, take off those jeans, I can't bear it. You look like you're about to get back up.”

Fionn snorts a laugh and bends down to kiss Harry's forehead.

“Your mum called me,” he says while he shuffles back off the bed and shucks his jeans.

“Yeah?” Harry asks. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just giving me her blessing, I suppose.”

Harry grins, lines of his face tired but eyes still wide awake.

“Didn't know we were getting married.”

“Ha ha,” Fionn drawls and snuggles down on the bed next to Harry. “I'm going to get cold on top of the duvet like this.”

Harry shuffles closer and wraps himself around Fionn, face to face but with their legs tangled together, Fionn's head tucked up against Harry's chest underneath his chin, Harry's arm heavy and warm on Fionn's side.

“You won't,” Harry says.

Fionn will, but he also can't bite back the smile that's pulling at his lips entirely, so he presses closer for a moment, the tip of his nose digging into Harry's chest, and relaxes.

“Takeaway when we wake up?” Harry mumbles, and Fionn hums his agreement back.

They fall asleep within minutes.

Fionn wakes alone, the duvet pulled up to his hip. It takes him a moment to place the sounds, but then he realises it's Harry closing the front door downstairs, probably having just gone out to fetch whatever food he'd called for. How long was Fionn out?

His phone is on the nightstand by his side, even though he's not sure if he put it there, and when Fionn grabs it he realises he slept for almost an hour and a half and he has a missed call from Gemma. There's also a message on his voicemail, so he goes to listen to that just in case--

– it is her.

“Hi, Fionn, this is Gemma. Don't tell me what you and my brother are up to that has you unable to pick up the phone, but, listen. You're smart and I like you and you can consider this the whole 'hurt him and I'll break your bones' spiel, but mostly I just wanted to say welcome to the family, and it was really nice to have you around. Let's catch up some time before H's birthday! I'm rubbish at gifts for him anyway, but maybe we can come up with something together. Bye!”

Fionn hangs up and stares at the ceiling blankly, wondering if Harry's going to call his dad after they've been round for tea in two days to thank him for the invitation. Is this what Harry's whole family is like? Impeccable manners? Who even does this kind of thing anymore? They Styles-Cox-Twists, apparently.

He sighs and picks his phone back up, sitting up slowly while typing a very simple text to Gemma.

  


** Gemma **

One (1) missed call, 28 December 2017, 19:23

SLEEPING

  


He can hear Harry puttering around the kitchen downstairs, so he heaves himself out of bed and digs one of his joggers out of the wardrobe, before making his way downstairs.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Harry says when he looks up from setting them each a place at the dining table. There's curries and samosas already on the table, and Fionn can feel his mouth water at the smell.

“Hey,” he says back and walks right into Harry's outstretched arms to kiss him hello. It may have only been ninety minutes he spent mostly asleep in Harry's arms, or at least next to him, but he's still in that emotional place where he misses Harry, so. Kisses hello after a nap it is.

“Hope you're in the mood for a curry?” Harry asks, actually pulling out a chair for Fionn.

“I'm always in the mood for a curry,” Fionn says.

Harry smiles at him and kisses him again before he sits down, bent over at the waist and one hand on the backrest of Fionn's chair.

They spend the next hour eating and talking, feet linked underneath the table and bodies turned towards one another. Fionn won't pretend he's not staring at the soft curls in Harry's hair or the soft bow of his lips, the width of his shoulders and the way his thick sweatshirt doesn't quite manage to trick Fionn into forgetting the strength of the body it's hiding.

“You look hungry,” Harry says with a twinkly-eyed grin when Fionn hasn't touched the last of his third helping of curry in a good ten minutes.

Fionn deliberately wets his lips.

“I am.”

“Oh?”

“Hm, yeah. I've been thinking about that negotiation,” Fionn says.

“Have you?” Harry asks, leaning back in his chair. He hasn't touched his food in a while either.

“I have,” Fionn says and gets up from his chair, pulling his jumper and t-shirt up over his head in one fluid motion, stepping forward to sink down onto Harry's lap.

Harry stares, hands coming up to Fionn's hips automatically. Fionn settles his own on Harry's shoulders before following the curve of his neck up until he can cup the base of his skull and pull him into a slow tease of a kiss.

“I see your point,” Harry says when he pulls away again, voice low and intimate, lips kiss-shiny. He runs his own hands up over Fionn's bare chest, flicking a thumb over the nipple Fionn isn't wearing a piercing in today. Somehow it had felt… odd, to wear it to Harry's mum's house. Ridiculous? Probably. But here Fionn is.

“Convinced?” Fionn asks, arching his back into Harry's touch a little. “Or do I have to go to my knees?”

“I was, but now that you've said that...” Harry says, leaning in for another kiss before Fionn can make good on his promise.

This one's filthy from the get go – all tongue and wet lips, Harry's hands grabbing onto Fionn to pull him closer.

“Bedroom,” he pulls back enough to mumble and then somehow tries to hold Fionn close while getting up, almost making them both fall over.

Fionn steps out of reach before Harry can try and walk them up the stairs still kissing, Harry's hand in his as he walks them up to the bedroom.

Of course his phone rings the moment he pulls Harry's sweatshirt off over his head, all of that skin almost close enough to taste.

“You need to get that?” Harry asks, mouthing at the column of Fionn's neck.

They stumble over towards the bed so Fionn can check the caller ID and it's – what the fuck? A video call from Lou Teasdale?

“Why is Lou calling me?” he says, putting the phone back down, but instead of reciprocating the kiss, Harry groans and hides his face in Fionn's neck.

“It's probably Lux,” he says. “She won't stop till you pick up.”

Fionn groans as well and pulls Harry's sweatshirt that he's still holding in his hand over his head, running a probably futile hand through his hair. It's a good thing Lux is too young to get the implication of sex hair.

He settles against the headboard, then picks up.

“Hi, Fionn!” Lux says excitedly, bundled up in a fluffy pink bathrobe.

“Hi, Lux,” Fionn greets her back. “Are you alright?”

“Yes! Mummy's letting me use her phone because I wanted to say thank you for my bathtub wand! It made the water all foamy and smell good!”

“That's great,” Fionn says. “I'm glad you liked it.”

“Is Harry there?” Lux asks, and Harry shakes his head in Fionn's peripheral vision.

“No, sorry, Harry's in the bathroom right now, showering. We just got home from Harry's mum's house so we're both a bit tired,” Fionn lies.

Lux nods importantly.

“I always get sooo tired when we drive to Auntie Anne's house,” she says.

“Are you just off to bed?” Fionn asks.

“Yes! Mummy's going to read me one of my new books that I got for Christmas and then tomorrow we're going ice skating! Do you and Harry want to come too?”

“Oh, sorry, we can't, we have some things to do,” Fionn says, this time not waiting for Harry's signal. Lux is adorable, but Fionn is going to keep Harry all to himself tomorrow, if he has to break a child's heart to do it.

Lux only shrugs and nods.

“Okay. Good night, Fionn!”

“Good night, Lux,” he says and waves back when she waves at him, letting her end the call. It'd seem rude to hang up on a six-year-old.

Fionn slumps further down onto the bed, setting his phone on silent and then looks over at Harry, who's trying hard not to laugh, hair still messy from when Fionn pulled his sweatshirt off.

“Please tell me you still want to fuck,” Fionn says, picking blunt over seductive, and letting Harry laugh at him for it.

“I still want to fuck,” Harry says, grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it up over Fionn's head. “Definitely.”

Fionn pushes his joggers and boxer briefs down in one go and then shimmies down further onto the mattress until he's on his back. When Harry drags his eyes down the entire length of his body it almost feels like a physical caress.

“Well?” Fionn says.

Harry wastes no further time getting naked and later, when Fionn's phone buzzes, it does so only once, and Fionn can honestly ignore a text message in favour of the way Harry's fingers feel when the push inside him. By the time the buzzing in his veins has calmed to a low hum and he's lying half on Harry's chest, lips raw and hurting a little but not enough to stop kissing, he's forgotten all about the text.

It's Harry who brings it back up.

“Who texted you earlier?” he asks, mumbled against Fionn's lips, and Fionn groans into Harry's sternum before rolling over to grab his phone.

“Unknown number on whatsapp,” he says with a frown and pulls the message up. There's no way his number's gotten out, right?

“That's Meri's number, I think,” Harry says, peering over his shoulder.

“Oh,” Fionn says. “Why is everyone--- hang on. Is this because of you?”

“Is what because of me?” Harry asks, blinking far too innocently when Fionn rolls back onto his chest to stare him in the eye.

“Your mum, Gemma, Lux, now Meredith?” Fionn says. “Did you tell them to call me?”

Harry shrugs and grins.

“Four calling birds,” he grins.

Fionn shakes his head with a grin, and then leans down to press a kiss to Harry's chest.

“Well, then, let's have this,” he says, pressing play on the video message and angling it so Harry can see.”

“Hi, Fionn,” Meredith says quietly off screen, the camera held steady on baby Ruby sleeping. “I just wanted to thank you again for that rabbit you gave Ruby. She loves it, as you can see.”

Meredith moves the phone to show the plushie rabbit rattle that Fionn bought her, clutched in Ruby's tiny little hand in her sleep.

“Ruby would say thank you too, but she's tired after a long day. Give our best to Harry, and we'll see you soon!”

Fionn sets the phone back down after the message has played through and rolls his eyes at the proud grin on Harry's face when he turns back to him.

“Your friends and family are all lovely,” Fionn says, like it costs him anything to admit.

“They all loved you. Not just because I told them to say that,” Harry says, and rolls Fionn over onto his back, leaning over him to kiss him again.

“I believe you. I'm pretty easy to like,” Fionn mumbles into the kiss, laughing when Harry pinches him in punishment.

“You're lucky I like you,” Harry says, already kissing his way back down Fionn's chest.

Fionn buries his hands in Harry's hair and sighs happily.

“Yeah.”


	5. five golden rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparkles, Frank Sinatra, and Fionn waking up first

Fionn wakes surprisingly early and surprisingly refreshed. Harry's huffing his snuffly little snores next to him, and Fionn feels – good. Light. Well-rested. Like he could get up and be active and start the day and not hate the whole world.

Obviously, he's immediately suspicious.

The light is greying beyond Harry's thick curtains, but that doesn't really mean anything at the end of December, so he rolls over carefully to grab his phone from the night stand and checks the time.

8:12.

That's not a time Fionn usually likes to be awake, but he can tell that going back to sleep now will probably result in ninety minutes of messed up dreams after which he'll feel less well-rested than he does now.

It's still really fucking tempting to roll back over towards Harry, snuggle up, and pass back out, but in the end Fionn decides to go with his brain and scoots out of bed carefully, trying not to jostle the mattress too much. It's a ridiculously thick mattress anyway, so it takes quite a bit of movement to jostle it. Fionn would know. He catches sight of the insides of his thighs when he swings his legs over the side of the bed, and brushes his fingers over the slightly purple skin there just to feel the dull ache that pulses just under his skin. Fionn doesn't even bruise that easily.

He stretches all the tension and cracks and tiredness out of his limbs and then pads over to the wardrobe carefully, sliding the doors open and grabbing the first pair of socks and underwear he sees. Then he picks his joggers and Harry's sweatshirt up from the floor, grabs his phone, and steals out of the room. The master bedroom has an en suite bathroom of course – … of course – but Fionn doesn't want to risk waking Harry, so he ambles his way down the hallway to the other one, getting into the shower there.

Once dressed, he hops down the stairs and makes a beeline for the kitchen. Just because Fionn's not usually the first one up doesn't mean he doesn't know what to do when he is. He hooks his phone up to the little bluetooth speakers Harry keeps on the counter and then pulls up spotify, picking a playlist of Christmas songs more or less at random before he gets to work.

There's not much in the fridge apart from coq-au-vin and curry, since Harry hasn't been home in a good while, but Fionn finds a carton of milk and when he rifles through the cupboards, he finds some porridge oats, nuts, and dried fruit. Maybe not the breakfast of superstars in six star deluxe suites, but right now “my 20 year old boyfriend made me breakfast with whatever was lying around” will have to do.

While the milk is heating up, Fionn decides to go the extra mile – really more of an inch, probably – and chops and roasts the hazelnuts, finding a jar of honey with the lid stuck on firmly enough it takes him a full two minutes to unscrew it. Glaring at the jar he blows on the angry line in his palm before the milk starts to bubble and he springs back into action. There should be cinnamon too, somewhere, right?

All in all, when the porridge is drizzled with honey, nuts sprinkled on top, dried fruit chopped and stirred in – and yes, there was cinnamon – it doesn't actually look half bad. This is probably the kind of thing people get social media for, right? For those moments when you're itching to show off?

No matter. Fionn's got Harry to show off to upstairs.

He brews them each a cup of tea, because Fionn has never bothered learning to work Harry's pretentious espresso machine, and roots around for a small serving tray Fionn knows Harry keeps in his kitchen somewhere for when he wants to take snacks through to the living room or breakfast up to bed. By the time he's found it, the tea has probably steeped a little too long, but he doubts Harry's the type to complain about that.

In fact, when Fionn pushes his way through the door to the bedroom, Harry's sat slightly slumped over in bed, squinting around with bleary eyes.

“Where'd you go?” he asks, a little petulant. “You weren't in bed when I woke up.”

Fionn grins. See, he's not the only one who thinks something must be wrong if he gets up before Harry does.

“I just woke up early today,” he says. “It happens sometimes.”

“It does?” Harry asks, like the concept genuinely confuses him.

Fionn kicks the door shut behind himself gently and then makes his way over to the bed.

“Wait, did you make breakfast?” Harry asks, like he's only now registering the tray Fionn's balancing.

“Yeah. It's just porridge, because there's only leftovers in the fridge, but it should be alright.”

“I love porridge,” Harry says, reaching for one of the bowls immediately and wincing a little at how hot it still is.

“Well, no, I don't. But today I do.”

“I figured there was a reason it was all that was left, but I tried,” Fionn says and leans over the tray to give Harry a kiss good morning.

Harry hums into it happily, holding Fionn close with a hand on the back of his neck for a moment as he licks into Fionn's mouth.

“Sorry, morning breath,” he mumbles and pulls back, but Fionn chases him and pecks his mouth one last time.

“Didn't even notice,” he says, but Harry doesn't try to kiss him again, turning his attention to the porridge instead.

“Did you put dried fruit in?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

Harry yawns his way through his first three bites, but eventually he perks up, and Fionn refrains from asking him if he's feeling alright. He seems fine, and if he's a bit knackered after the holiday celebrations of the past few days Fionn can't exactly blame him. He knows Harry went to see his dad with Gemma as well at some point – the twenty-sixth, probably – so he's basically been in go-mode since the 24th. Sure, he's probably used to schedules like this from touring, but that's not really the same thing, is it. Touring, and making nice with friends and family and everything.

When they're done eating, Harry goes to have a shower, and Fionn joins him to brush his teeth again. He's pretty sure he's got a piece of dried apricot stuck somewhere and he has no desire to leave it. There are faint red lines all over Harry's back when he takes his shirt off to get in the shower. Fionn grins to himself and doesn't comment, leaning against the counter when he's done.

“There's a Frank Sinatra version of The 12 Days of Christmas, did you know?” he says, a little louder so as to be heard over the spray of the shower.

“No! We should listen to it later,” Harry says.

“Hm, yeah. It's a bit different though.”

“Different? How?” Harry asks.

“Well, the gifts are all different. There's three golf clubs and seven, I think, books of fiction, the most lovely lavender tie, and twelve dozen kisses,” Fionn says.

“Well, that doesn't sound like the worst update,” Harry says.

“What, you like the golf clubs better than the three French hens?” Fionn teases.

Harry looks over and flicks a bit of water at the glass wall that separates the shower from the rest of the room.

“Also, it's made out 'to our loving dad' and 'my children gave to me', respectively,” Fionn adds.

“Oh.”

“So, there's that.”

“144 kisses sounded so nice until you said that,” Harry complains, looking over with an exaggerated pout.

“I can always call you 'daddy',” Fionn suggests, grinning brightly.

Harry pulls a face and groans, putting his forehead against the tiled wall.

“Don't even joke about it.”

“You don't want me to be a good boy for you, daddy?” Fionn trills, but the sarcasm is so heavy in it, it barely even counts.

Harry still demonstratively puts his hands over his ears.

“Stop it!” he complains.

Fionn laughs, and watches Harry make a production out of glancing over to make sure he hasn't started to say anything again.

“Honestly, why would you do that to me,” Harry complains, and then ducks back under the water to rinse his hair a final time before shutting it off.

Fionn hands him a towel automatically, and let's Harry crowd him against the counter for a kiss, even though he's dripping on him.

“You don't seem too put off,” Fionn teases, tracing his fingers along the lines he left of Harry's shoulders last night.

Harry grins and leans down to nip at the line of Fionn's jaw. Fionn tilts his head back automatically.

“Cause the water made the marks you left sting a little, so I kept thinking about you putting them there,” Harry says.

Fionn hums low in his throat and squeezes a little, thrilling at the way it makes Harry hiss.

“You bruised my thighs, if that makes you feel any better,” he says.

“I wasn't even down there that long,” Harry says, like Fionn's in any way complaining.

Fionn snorts indelicately and hooks a leg around Harry's hip.

“Not with your mouth,” he says.

Harry makes a pleased-surprised humming noise and presses closer, the front of Fionn's – Harry's – sweatshirt getting even wetter. But so does the kiss, and then Harry's hand holds Fionn's thigh up so they stay pressed together, and Fionn has absolutely no reason to complain.

The bruise throbs in time with his heartbeat, and Fionn would be lying if he claimed it didn't turn him on a little. God, as long as it's Harry, almost everything seems to turn him on.

Harry's other hand pushes up under the sweatshirt, petting at Fionn's skin and finally coming to flick at his nipple, making him keen into the kiss a little. But just as Fionn thinks it's about to get properly interesting, Harry pulls back.

“Wait, I've got something for you,” he says.

“Oh, come on, now?” Fionn complains, but follows Harry back into the bedroom.

The towel slips from Harry's hips as he's rooting through the wardrobe, and it's not doing anything to make Fionn more interested in what it is that Harry wants to show him. What was today again?

_On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me five golden rings._

Right. There's no way Harry got Fionn five actual golden rings, because Fionn doesn't even wear--

But then Harry turns around triumphantly with a small rectangular box. Fionn stands corrected. It looks like Harry did get him five golden rings.

“I wanted to actually get you something for Christmas too,” Harry says, expression going soft as he sits down on the bed, shamelessly naked still.

Fionn suppresses a sigh, and climbs up onto the bed, criss-crossing his legs on top of the messy duvet, giving Harry his full attention.

“Now, I know you don't wear a lot of jewellery, and this is definitely not me proposing,” - Fionn hadn't even thought of it - “But I saw this one and it reminded me of you so...”

Harry trails off and opens the box, revealing four golden rings of some kind. He pulls one with a green stone laid into the middle of an intricately carved band out and holds it up for Fionn to look at.

“It's a peridot,” Harry explains, like that means anything to Fionn. It's almost bottle green, and looks a bit like Harry's hooded eyes when he leans in for a kiss. Fionn can definitely see the appeal of that twinkling on his finger, but he's still not sure if he actually wants to wear a ring.

“You don't have to wear it, if you don't want,” Harry says, and when Fionn glances up from the ring to look at him, he seems to actually mean it, smiling at him softly. “I just wanted you to have it.”

Fionn plucks it from his fingers and slips it on his own ring finger. It's a little loose, but not loose enough to feel like it'd fit any of the others.

“It's just odd, wearing one, when you're not used to it,” he says. “But I do like it.”

Harry smiles, and then plucks up another ring, this one brushed yellow gold with a thin groove in the middle.

“Well, I assumed you'd say that, so this one's an earring. It's technically two earrings, because they come in pairs, did you know?” Harry teases.

Fionn laughs and takes it to look at it for a moment before opening the clasp and hanging it on his ear.

“How does it look?” he asks, turning his head a little to give Harry a better view.

“I have great taste,” Harry says, and laughs when Fionn leans over to shove him in the shoulder.

“So what are the other two then?” Fionn asks, glancing back down.

“Well, this,” Harry says, and holds up a plain golden ring, “Is for your other piercing. As is the last one.”

Fionn picks the last one up, holding it up between them. It's a simple bar piercing, but it's got a short chain connecting the two balls, from which dangles a faux-diamond, and a bedazzled heart pendant.

“Are you joking?” he asks.

Harry laughs.

“What! It's cute!” he insists, but he's far too amused by Fionn's reaction to have actually meant for Fionn to wear it.

Fionn holds it up against the sweatshirt where his nipple would be and looks down at it, then up at Harry.

“Really?” he asks.

Harry reaches out to fiddle with the heart pendant for a moment, eyes going a little darker, like he's imagining it lying against Fionn's naked skin. Which, fuck. Makes Fionn imagine it. Harry likes to play with the piercing anyway when Fionn's wearing it, but this with it's stupid, sparkly dangly bits…

Fionn sighs and pulls the sweatshirt over his head, the ring on his finger glinting in the light when he looks down at his hand. He can't believe Harry's basically bejewelled him.

“Can I do it?” Harry asks when Fionn opens the ball off one end of the bar piercing, making Fionn look up at him, then down at his chest.

“Um, yeah, I guess,” he says. “You can't really do it wrong if you're careful, just don't try and jab too hard or anything.”

Fionn hands Harry the piercing, and can't help but watch him push it in. It doesn't usually feel like much of anything, but this time has his ears ringing with the knowledge that Harry bought it for him – as a joke or not, Harry picked it out and bought it and now he stuck something in Fionn's body that's going to stay there.

Suddenly it's a little harder to breathe, and the stupid heart pendant twinkles in the light with the way Fionn's chest moves.

“Fionn,” Harry says, voice like gravel, and Fionn's head jerks up from staring at his own chest to staring at Harry's face, meeting his headed gaze immediately.

“Want to see the fifth ring?” Harry asks.

Fionn swallows heavily. The fifth – why would he care about that now? And anyway, one finger ring, two earrings, two piercings. That's five.

“The earring's meant to only count as one, cause you only have the one ear pierced,” Harry says like he can read Fionn's thoughts spelled out on his face. Fionn's not trying terribly hard to hide them right now.

Without waiting for another reply, Harry crawls over to fish something out of his night stand. In his palm when he comes back is a decidedly bigger ring, though not big enough to be a bracelet, and not shaped like one either. It takes Fionn a moment, but when he does get it, his entire body flushes with heat.

“Technically it's for me to wear, I thought,” Harry says. “Unless you want to, of course. Or no one. Just a thought. Either way, at your discretion.”

A cock ring. The fifth one is a cock ring.

That's definitely something to be explored, but-- later. To be explored later. Right now Fionn just wants Harry closer than he is, wants to be more naked than he is.

“Not now,” he says and chucks the ring off the bed, barely even noticing the dull thud it makes on the soft carpet that surrounds the bed, reaching out to pull Harry closer as he leans back himself, Harry slotting between his legs easily when Fionn comes to lie on his back. “Just come touch me now.”


	6. six geese a-laying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> surprises, Equine Assissted Learning, and why this relationship is falling apart

“You know,” Fionn says, watching Harry meticulously wrap the actual Belgian Chocolates he got Fionn's dad and sisters – Sonny is getting a light saber, because a ten-year-old probably doesn't appreciate the finer subtleties of chocolate-making, “considering you told me I don't have to get your mum and Gemma anything, you're really not holding back on this.” 

“Well, neither did you,” Harry points out. 

“Because I knew you were going to pull a stunt like this and also my parents raised me to be polite.” 

“Mhm, and because you want them to like you,” Harry says, grinning at Fionn. Fionn doesn't dignify that comment with an answer, and watches Harry curl the ribbon around his scissors with a decisive pull, and then stretch out his arms. 

“Ta-da.” 

“Very nice,” Fionn says. 

Harry sighs, shooting him a faux-disapproving look. 

“You know, it wouldn't hurt you to appreciate the effort I'm making. This is your family after all. This is why this relationship is failing, you know? You never pay any attention!” 

Harry ends the performance by getting up decisively from his chair and grabbing the pair of scissors to march them back over to their place in the kitchen drawer. Fionn schools his face so he won't break out into a grin and reaches out to grab Harry's wrist as he passes him by, pulling him into his lap. 

“I'm sorry, darling,” Fionn simpers, nudging Harry under the chin with his fingers to make him look up and hold his eyes. “I do appreciate you. I appreciate every little thing you do, like the way you fluff the pillows and how you shimmy your hips when you sing along to the radio as you cook for me. You're the angel in this house, baby, and I'm always paying attention to you.” 

He's sort of joking, but the best lies/acting draws on something real, and those are all things he does appreciate. He definitely is always paying attention to Harry, and he's pretty sure Harry knows that. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Tell me what I can do to make you smile,” Fionn tacks on, adding a slight, probably terrible, Southern US twang, just to get Harry to laugh and not take him too seriously. Feelings are all fine and dandy, but sometimes they come bubbling out so unbidden that Fionn has to take a moment to process. 

Harry obliges and laughs a little, then ducks down to brush their noses together. 

“I could think of a few things you could do for me,” he says, voice dipping down into that register that has all the hair on the back of Fionn's neck stand to attention. 

“Anything among those we actually have time for?” Fionn asks back, and can't resist kissing Harry a little before he gets to answer. 

Harry, apparently, decides kissing is more important right now than speaking, and sinks into it. Lets Fionn nibble on his lip and lick into his mouth, meeting his soft touches with ones of his own. 

“Well, there's this,” he says quietly when they break apart. “But not much else, because we do actually have an appointment.” 

“My dad won't mind if we're a bit late.” 

Harry huffs a laugh and kisses Fionn again, but pulls back and gets up from Fionn's lap when he tries to deepen it again. 

“Sorry, but your carriage awaits,” Harry says. 

“Yeah, but you're driving, so--” 

“No, I mean, like, a literal carriage.” 

“What?” 

“We're taking a carriage ride through Richmond Park. It's for a good cause,” Harry says, beaming. 

“For a good cause?” Fionn asks, maybe a little overly suspicious. 

“Equine Assisted Learning courses for children with learning disabilities or autism,” Harry quotes, clearly satisfied with himself. 

“Is this… today's Christmas Day?” Fionn asks. He's pretty sure the sixth day is neither about horses nor children. 

“Sort of. You have to spot six geese for that,” Harry says with a grin and a shrug. “But if you don't, I'm prepared for that too.” 

“Of course you are,” Fionn says, but gets up with a sigh. “Alright then, is there a dress code for this thing?” 

“A carriage ride?” Harry asks, frowning. 

Fionn shrugs exasperatedly. 

“I'm just asking! You never know.” 

“Just put on a jumper and a coat, you menace,” Harry says and gives him a gentle push towards the stairs. 

Fionn grins to himself and goes, putting on his warmest wool-blend jumper, because sitting outside sounds like it'll get cold, coat or not, and grabs a beanie hat, scarf, and mittens as well. Even if he doesn't even up needing them, Harry's the kind of person who forgets how easily he runs cold, and then at least Fionn will be prepared. 

Turns out, Harry isn't only bundled up like he's going on an arctic exhibition, he's got a blanket in the car that Fionn convinces him to leave. (“You paid fifty pounds for this, Harry, they better have a blanket.” - “Technically a hundred, cause, like--” - “Jesus.”) A blanket is actually, as it turns out, provided for the carriage ride, and the look into the stables is a lot more interesting than Fionn thought it would be. He's never been a big horse person, but they are fascinating animals and he's considered taking a few lessons, just so he can put it on his CV. 

Plus, Fionn spots six geese. Well, he spots a whole flock, so a few more than just six, but Harry grins delightedly, obviously glad his plan was a success on all fronts. Fionn really wants to kiss that smile, but they're maintaining a respectable distance in public, not even cosying up more than can be explained away with shared body heat. 

So when dad has asked them in and leaves them to take off their coats and shoes to go sort out the tea, Fionn takes the opportunity to grab the front of Harry's jumper and pull him into a kiss. Harry hums pleasantly and runs his fingers through the hair by Fionn's ear when they separate again. 

“I like doing stuff with you,” he says, quietly. 

Fionn kisses him again. 

“Yeah, me too.” 

When an hour later and after much fawning about Belgian Chocolate and lightsabers Harry pulls out six Kinder Surprise Eggs, Fionn finds himself laughing too much to explain. 


	7. seven swans a-swimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50s Americana, alternate timelines, and criticism

“Critics might say this is a little derivative,” Fionn points out.

“Well, it's a good thing then that I'm here with my boyfriend, not a critic,” Harry drawls, bumping his shoulder against Fionn’s jovially.

“Why would I limit myself to being only one thing?” Fionn fires back.

Harry laughs and gets that look on his face that means he's thinking about kissing Fionn, but he doesn't. The Winter Wonderland may be closed off to the general public this afternoon, but just because everyone else here is a famous doesn't mean they're free to be grossly in love, apparently. Fionn’s a cynic anyway, when it comes to people and their intentions being honourable, and he's also happy to follow Harry's lead on this whole PDA thing. He doesn't really want this, or any other part of his life plastered across tabloids and gossip blogs and twitter and wherever else people share these things. Everywhere, if his publicist is to be believed. (Fionn is still in that place where he can't believe he has a publicist. His publicist probably still can't believe he got a 20-year-old without a social media footprint. Not counting SoundCloud and YouTube, but, well, that ship has sailed.)

“Yes, why would you,” Harry agrees, somehow almost fond enough to make Fionn blush. “But I hope both the critic and the boyfriend can enjoy themselves a little.”

“The critic was joking,” Fionn says. “And even if he was serious, it's not his turn to have an opinion.”

“Isn't it a critic's purpose to always have an opinion?” Harry asks with a grin.

Fionn grins back and then pretends to shush him.

“Don't give him any ideas,” he says.

Harry laughs and squeezes Fionn’s fingers where they are hidden between their bodies.

The sun’s already going down and the twinkly lights are coming on in anticipation of the darkness about to settle around them, so Fionn figures they're good for a stolen touch of a hand. It's not like this is Harry's first go on this particular rodeo either. Amd it's definitely not like Fionn minds the touch. He's felt almost as if he'd been touch-starved with how clingy he's been the last few days, but there’s something about having Harry within arm's reach all day that makes Fionn want to prove to himself that it's real, that Harry is actually right there and that if Fionn reaches out for him, Harry will reach back.

“Alright, I'll try and keep my critical side in check,” Harry says.

“As you should. It's boyfriend time,” Fionn says.

“My favourite time.”

“Don't lie, your favourite time is stage time.”

Harry moves his head side to side a little like he's thinking about it and Fionn can't help but giggle.

“They're just very different,” Harry says.

“Yeah, I know,” Fionn says. “Don't worry, I'm not insulted or mad or anything. I get it. I like stage time too. You wouldn't be you without stage time, and who knows if I'd even fallen in love with that guy.”

“It's just a job,” Harry says, like he's said a hundred times before.

Fionn shrugs a little.

“The magnitude of it maybe. Not the singing, music-making, entertaining part, I don't think.”

“But assuming I'd do that anyway, only on a smaller scale, wouldn't you have fallen in love with me anyway?”

“Depends on how much of a boring corporate number your day job had made you,” Fionn grins.

Harry grins back.

“Maybe I'd be a starving artist trying to charm a cappuccino I have no money for out of a pretty barista,” he suggests.

“Why am I still a barista in this scenario?” Fionn complains. “My success doesn't depend on yours.”

“Because it's romantic. It's how a rom com would go, right? I'm a starving artist who dropped out of uni where I did business or law because it's the smart thing to do and you're a struggling actor working as a barista during the day. And then we meet and inspire each other and all is well,” Harry explains, finishing it off with a grin and a little shrug. It is how the rom com would probably go.

Fionn snorts.

“I know you know that's not how romance works. Or life. Or people!”

“Yeah, but it's nice to pretend sometimes, come on,” Harry wheedles, nudging Fionn with his shoulder again.

Fionn can't quite hold back the smile, but he rolls his eyes.

“It'd be more romantic if it were actually realistic, not this manic pixie dream boy stuff, I think,” he says.

“Alright, so I've almost got a record deal, and you've already been cast in a Christopher Nolan movie, but we still like each other and emotional support is always nice, and a change in your life can revitalise you,” Harry says.

Fionn laughs and looks over at Harry, pinching at his own lips so he doesn't lean over to kiss him.

“So we have a fling but then you’re always recording and I'm going away to shoot movies,” Fionn adds.

Harry sighs exasperatedly at him.

“Fionnnn. This was supposed to end up in a different place than we are now.”

Fionn laughs again.

“I thought you'd appreciate the romance of all roads leading back to Rome.”

“Do you really believe that?” Harry asks curiously. “That we'd have ended up here no matter what?”

“No, of course not,” Fionn says, huffing a laugh when Harry pouts. “There are so many ways our lives could have gone where we never even meet. But I'd like to think, if we're in a timeline where we do meet, and not just in passing, we'd get along at least.”

“You're so pragmatic,” Harry says with a fake put-upon sigh, but then smiles at Fionn as if he's worried Fionn is actually going to be insulted.

“And yet I'm dating an international pop star who's never around. What does that tell you,” Fionn laughs, intending to tease.

But Harry’s face turns into that almost overwhelming fondness Fionn still feels overly giddy calling ‘love'.

“That despite everything you think having me in your life adds to your happiness.”

Fionn swallows heavily and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, ridiculously glad Harry knows. “You do make me really happy.”

Harry bites down on a smile and then turns away laughing.

“Fuck, I really want to kiss you right now.”

Fionn laughs too, startled into it and bumps their shoulders together instead, digging his phone out of the pocket of his coat.

 

**H**

:*

 

Harry looks at Fionn suspiciously when his phone beeps with a text, but then laughs when he sees it.

 

**H**

:*

 

“Alright, now come along. We need to find some swans,” Harry says, decisively putting his phone away again.

“I highly doubt they keep swans a-swimming in the Winter Wonderland portion of the park, Harry,” Fionn says, but lets Harry lead them around anyway.

They wander for a good few hours because they don't have to get ready for the eventual New Year's Eve party for a good while yet (“Nobody shows up to a New Year's Eve party before eleven, Fionn”), going on rides and chatting and half-heartedly looking for swans. They haven't really gone on any dates, as such, before yesterday's carriage ride. Maybe a few outings back in France could be called that, but that was ages ago and there wasn't any intent there then. A fledgling crush, at least on Fionn's side, but no serious thoughts of any sort of commitment. Fionn decides he likes it, this whole going on ridiculous dates with Harry business.

“You know what,” Harry says abruptly, when Fionn’s fingers are starting to chill despite his gloves. “I have an idea.”

“No way that can go wrong,” Fionn drawls sarcastically.

“Shut up, ye of little faith.”

“Sorry, darling, all of your ideas are always amazing, of course.”

“Yes, thank you,” Harry says, and weaves his way through the rows of game booths until he finds one of those that makes you shoot rubber ducks off a stream of water (or maybe just a conveyor belt).

Harry beams at the guy behind the counter, while Fionn tries really hard not to groan into his hands.

“How many do I have to get for a prize?” Harry asks.

“Five out of ten,” the guy says with a cheery grin. “Seven for the bigger ones, and ten for that really big one over there.”

Harry grins over at Fionn and waggles his eyebrows.

“I'll be impressed if you get one,” Fionn drawls, leaning against the counter as casually as he can.

“Well, prepare to be impressed then,” Harry says, and hands over a tenner, accepting the gun in return.

It's odd how jarring it is to see a gun in Harry's hands, given that he's seen it before and that this isn't a real gun either. It isn't even made to look like one, painted a light blue with little white snowflakes on. Christ, the branding is one everything, isn't it.

“Have you ever fired a gun before?” Fionn asks.

“No, but I'm good with axes, so I'm assuming I'll be good at this.”

The guy behind the counter laughs good-naturedly.

“Once, Harry. You only did that the once,” Fionn points out.

“Well, if it was beginner's luck, then I'll just count on that,” Harry says and lifts the gun up.

He aims, squeezes the trigger, and the first duck dutifully falls over.

Fionn is, reluctantly, a little impressed behind the surprise that Harry did actually get it.

“Six more to go,” Harry says with a wide grin.

He gets the next five, which is the actually impressive part, but then misses twice. Fionn tries not to let on how invested he is in Harry's success at that point. Harry, for his part, does that concentrated pout he does, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he watches the line of the remaining ducks go by.

“Well, you're definitely getting a prize already,” the man behind the counter says, like he wants to bolster Harry before his not unlikely failure to graduate to the next level of prizes.

Harry doesn't acknowledge him, a feat accomplished only by people who try to speak to Harry while he's trying to achieve some sort of immediate goal, and just sighs a steady breath. When he squeezes the trigger he grins, and a split second later the seventh duck is hit.

Fionn huffs a surprised laugh.

“Well done,” the guy says when Harry hands the gun back, beaming all over his handsome face.

“Thank you. The encouragement made all the difference,” he says.

The guy laughs as he puts the gun away and then taps the side of his nose.

“I'm sure it did,” he drawls. “Now, what can I get you? Or does your lad get to pick?”

Fionn runs cold and freezes, deer in headlights in the face of the assumption, but Harry keeps on smiling like the man hadn't said anything concerning at all and scans the prizes.

“Can I get that light brown bear with the red bow over there?” he asks, pointing at a particularly fluffy, old-school teddy bear looking one.

“Absolutely,” the guy says, and doesn't make any sort of mention of Fionn being anyone particular to Harry again while he gets the bear down.

“Here you go,” he says as he hands it over.

Harry grabs it and offers the guy his hand to shake.

“Thank you, and have a happy new year,” he says.

The guy laughs again.

“And to you, lad. Have a good one.”

Fionn follows Harry's example and wishes the man a happy new year, trying to work out if the way he's looking at his with those cheery, twinkly eyes means anything in particular. He didn't seem to recognise either of them, and it's not like Harry confirmed (or denied) anything, but Fionn can feel jitters sitting behind his ribs.

Still. He tries to squash them and falls into step beside Harry, careful to maintain a normal mate-y distance between them.

“So, what are you going to name him?” he asks.

“Who says it's a boy?” Harry asks, quirking an eyebrow, as he looks up from his phone.

“Sorry, what are you going to name them?”

Harry stares down at the bear for a second or two and then shrugs.

“Don't know,” he says, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Haven't thought of anything yet.”

Fionn's phone beeps with a message, and he squints at Harry for a moment before taking it out to check.

 

**H**

It's yours

 

Fionn grins down at his phone and refuses to acknowledge how ridiculously sweet Harry's 50s Americana date aesthetic is.

“Do you want to maybe go home? My toes are starting to feel the cold,” he suggests, putting his phone back in his pocket.

Harry's eyes glitter when he looks over.

“Now that you've said it, I am a bit cold,” he agrees and steers them towards the exit.


	8. eight maids a-milking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no milkshakes, lots of mumbling, and hangovers

Fionn is not fond of mornings, as a rule. “A rule” as in “a fact about Fionn's character”. There's just no way around it. Not any time soon, at least. Fionn won't pretend to know the future, and he can imagine that his life could transpire in a way that makes him develop into a person who appreciates mornings and doesn't mind getting up early. He has absolutely no idea how such a development would happen, what sort of life he would have to lead for it to occur, but that doesn't mean that it isn't possible. Purely as a hypothetical exercise.

But as of right now, Fionn is not a morning person in any way. Not even Christmas morning as a child saw him wake up any time before eight, usually nine. When his sisters used to wake him at seven to sneak into the living room and peek at the presents – maybe even grab one and open it early – Fionn fell back asleep in the time it took for them to get dressed after waking him up by jumping on his bed or hitting him with their pillows. Nothing like a little sibling affection.

The point is, on a good day Fionn is not a morning person. On a fantastic day, Fionn is still not much of a morning person. On a day such as today, when he wakes up with a battalion of dwarves mining for precious stones in his head, he's the least amount of morning a person can be.

He whimpers a little as he tries to figure out where he is, the light too bright for his eyes and his face pushed reflexively into the fabric underneath his cheek – a pillow, he thinks. He brings up a careful hand and shield his eyes, prying his eyelids apart with what feels like a Herculean effort and blinks around the room twice before he recognises Harry's bedroom.

Right.

Okay.

That's good.

He has no exact recollection of last night's festivities yet, never mind the number of drinks he's had, but judging by the aforementioned dwarf mine where his brain should be it was probably a lot.

He whimpers again when he realises his face is turned towards the room, not the rest of the bed, because everything's a little hazy and his head hurts and his stomach is revolting already even though he hasn't even moved yet, so he's really not sure if he should turn his head around to see if Harry's still in bed with him. On the other hand he really needs Harry to still be in bed with him, to know he's not alone in his suffering, at least, so he stretches his arm out behind himself until he bumps into a warm, slightly clammy stretch of skin. He pets at it for a bit, tries to figure out what part of Harry it is he's got his hand on, but then Harry rumbles a low, pathetic noise, and pushes Fionn's hand away, only to link their fingers together.

“Stop it,” he complains, voice scratchy and miserable. “Sleep.”

“You're twisting my arm,” Fionn says, because Harry is, a little.

Harry lets go and Fionn pulls his arm back and through to his front under his body, rolling over carefully so he's lying on his side. He dares lift his head so he can flip the pillow over onto the cool side and sighs in immediate bliss when he lies back down.

“Why are you being so loud,” Harry complains, his hand slipping up under the button up shirt Fionn is still wearing to rest against his bare back.

The skin-on-skin contact feels so nice, Fionn half wants to shuffle back so he can cuddle up against Harry's body. But the other half doesn't want to risk moving, because so far he's just got a terrible headache and a queasy stomach. It could be worse. He doesn't want to tempt fate.

“You're the one still talking,” Fionn mumbles back.

Harry makes another pathetic little noise that Fionn interprets to mean something along the lines of “please stop talking back to me I have neither the emotional nor physical strength to either appreciate or reciprocate it and I just really want to sleep some more before this terrible hangover makes me retch into the toilet or curl up in the foetal position and weep”. Or whatever. He's not projecting.

“Just wanted to make sure you're there,” Fionn says quietly, and sighs another breath, relaxing along with the deep exhale, hoping sleep will come to claim him again quickly.

Harry whines again.

“It's too early to be this sappy.”

Fionn kind of wants to smile, but he doesn't think any of his muscles are cooperating towards that goal.

“I love you,” he mumbles instead, lips already so slack he's not even sure all the words make it out safely.

“Love you too,” Harry whispers back.

Fionn falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again the room is darker, which must mean that Harry got up to draw the curtains at some point. The pounding in Fionn's head isn't any duller, and his stomach is still queasy, but his bladder insists he needs to get up _right now_ so he pushes himself up and stumbles across the room towards the en suite bathroom. He hasn't spent more than a dozen or so nights here before Christmas, but somehow he finds he can navigate at least Harry's bedroom with his eyes more than just half-lidded and his head shrouded in a bleary fog. He leans against the wall as he pisses, lets the cool tile chill his forehead and his cheek and breathes heavily through a wave of nausea before he flushes.

Washing his hands he realises that his eyes feel so dry and sticky because he forgot to take out his contacts.

Shit.

Prying his eyes open to get them out now is more than unpleasant, and they stick to his eyeballs like dry suction cups, making Fionn whimper through the whole procedure.

Alcohol is the worst. It makes you stupid and then it makes you hurt, and Fionn doesn't even remember the last parts of last night anymore. How the fuck did they get home? Neither of them could've driven. Oh, no, wait. They took a taxi there. Did they take a taxi back? Probably. Fionn can't imagine they walked.

There's a flash of a memory in his mind; Harry's hand heavy on the inside of his thigh, far too high up to be decent, Fionn's cock pressing against the seam of his stupid skinny jeans, and Harry's mouth hot and liqueur-sloppy on his. Harry's voice rough like gravel, burning its way into Fionn's mind the way the alcohol did down into his stomach, whispering about all the places on Fionn's body he wanted to touch. The music in the cab turned up slightly too loud like the driver had given up on them staying decent and just decided to drown them out instead.

He's pretty sure by the time they made it to the bed they didn't do more than kiss and let their hands roam before they fell asleep. It's usually how it goes when they stay out till – shit, was it four when they climbed into the taxi? Fionn has the distinct feeling he remembers checking the time at around four. Anyway. It was late.

Fionn tugs at the waistband of his underwear and it doesn't look like he came into his pants, at least.

Okay.

Fionn takes a few breaths, trying to assess the state of his hangover, and then bends over to drink some water from the tap, the cold sliding down his throat like some sort of manna. God, water is seriously underrated. He's not sure he wants to be up yet, but he also feels like maybe it's time he should try to be alive again, so when he slowly walks back into the bedroom he makes a beeline for his discarded jeans and digs his phone out of the pocket.

It's 12:23.

That means he probably slept for something between seven and eight hours, which is quite alright, generally speaking. And also means he shouldn't sleep for much more, if he wants to maintain any sort of humanoid sleeping schedule. But Harry's still a man-shaped pile of limbs in the bed and he looks like he needs cuddling. Or like Fionn needs to cuddle him. Either way. Harry always makes any bed (or room, really) look a good bit more inviting when he's in it.

“What are you doing?” Harry mumbles into the sheets, turning his head slowly to blearily blink in Fionn's direction. “Why are you awake?”

“Needed to piss,” Fionn says and carefully climbs back onto the bed, shuffling closer to Harry.

“Bodies are terrible,” Harry comments, reaching up to press his fingers to his forehead, probably in the vain hope of cooling down a little.

Fionn reaches over to add his own cold hand and smiles when Harry sighs happily.

“Bodies can be pretty great,” Fionn says, making Harry's lips twitch like he maybe tried to smile for a moment.

“'m too hungover to fuck, darling.”

“You won't always be,” Fionn points out.

Harry hums.

“Okay, bodies are only terrible sometimes. Like when you're hungover.”

“We should get up and have some breakfast. Take some paracetamol, maybe,” Fionn says. “Do you want me to order in?”

Harry groans and reaches up to blindly grab for Fionn's hand.

“No. Just give me a moment,” he says. “I need to-- I need to remember which ways are up and down or something.”

Fionn smiles and gets up onto his elbow to lean over and press a kiss to Harry's temple. Harry hums pleasantly.

“Take your time,” Fionn says.

He lies back down and falls asleep again over watching Harry breathe.

He wakes up to Harry moving around, sitting up and scooting towards the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side, his head in his hands.

“Morning,” Fionn says.

Somehow, his headache's worse now, but he's pretty sure that's the hunger and thirst doing their thing. He needs to get some food and start hydrating ASAP.

“We need food,” Harry says.

“I'll help,” Fionn offers, because Harry has a hangover breakfast routine. As in, making breakfast is part of his routine of getting over a hangover.

Harry nods miserably and then pulls on a sweatshirts and sweatpants. He was naked, but that's not particularly rare. Harry's always naked when he can be, and Fionn rarely wastes any time getting Harry undressed when they get home as keyed up as he thinks they must have been yesterday.

“Come on, daydreamer,” Harry says, suddenly by his side and handing him his own joggers and sweatshirt.

Fionn slips them on slowly, wary still of the pounding in his head, and then follows Harry downstairs.

“Can you just chop some fruit? I'll make us eggs and sausages,” Harry says, pulling the fridge open and sticking his face into it further than it probably needs to go.

“Yeah, no problem,” Fionn says, and pulls the bowl of fruit on the counter closer to pick a few.

They work in silence, and it's only when they're sat down next to each other at the breakfast bar that Harry makes a sudden noise like he's remembering something.

“I was going to make you eight milkshakes today. I had your favourite flavours of ice cream delivered with the groceries yesterday and everything.”

Fionn can't help the slightly distressed noise he makes at the idea of drinking eight milkshakes.

“Let's just not and say we did,” he suggest. “I don't think my stomach is up for that kind of adventure today.

Harry nods slowly.

“Yeah, that seems smarter. And we're going to Sweden tomorrow anyway, we need to rest.”

“We're going where now?”


	9. nine ladies dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an invitation to a club, a private box, and a favour

They're going, as it turns out, to the ballet in Stockholm, because Tom's brother is in the company and got Harry tickets and an assurance that the Royal Opera in Stockholm wouldn't make that large a deal out of his visit. At least not for a few days.

So that's how Fionn finds himself changing into a nice suit on Harry's private plane in Stockholm when he's had breakfast and lunch in London, dinner on the plane. For the most part, Fionn manages to forget how filthy rich Harry is, because despite everything he owns practically reeking of how high-end it must be, Harry moves within his space so naturally that Fionn never really notices. There's no artifice. No showmanship or showing off.

But then they're shuffled into the opera house through the artists' entrance and lead to their box mere moment before the curtain goes up, settling in quietly enough that not a lot of people look up and over at them. And in the dark of the room, no one can make out who the two brunet guys are, Fionn thinks. They'll just keep to themselves during the intermission and hide from opera glasses in their box.

Fionn hasn't been to the ballet in ages, and he's a little excited for it, actually. It's different, sitting in the dark in a nice suit, watching at least nine ladies whirling around the stage in their costumes, the acrobatics enough to steal Fionn's breath a little, while the music swells and ebbs. It's not like the cinema, seeing something live on a stage, and Fionn hasn't had or taken the opportunity to see anything on a stage since watching Tom in The Ferryman earlier in the year.

He used to go a lot, but. Well. Between work and the suddenly very real prospect of being recognised when he goes outside, Fionn hasn't really taken the time to plan an outing to the theatre or the ballet or anything. He doesn't know if he's mentioned that to Harry, or if this is just a lucky coincidence, but it's nice, sitting here with Harry.

Or at least it is for the first twenty minutes or so. Then Fionn gets restless.

It's not that it's particularly bad or anything. The orchestra is actually really good, from what Fionn can tell, and the dancing is impressive. Fionn will always be impressed by the sort of athletic and artistic dedication it takes to dance, especially the way these people do it. But something about it is just-- choppy. It doesn't really work for him. Fionn knows the story already, and it's still hard to follow. He's not even always sure which one of the girls on stage is Alice, and he can't work out if that's on purpose or not. Is he supposed to feel like he's slowly going mad, the way that Alice feels? Even so, that's not really what this is, either. It's just frustration.

So when the intermission happens, he sighs with barely masked relief and looks over at Harry.

“Are you enjoying it?” he asks, curious.

“Er, not so much,” Harry says, a little chagrined. “I've never been a big fan of ballet. But I'm alright!”

Fionn huffs a laugh.

“I like ballet and I'm not too keen on this one either,” he says. “Do you still want to stay for the rest?”

“Yes,” Harry says without hesitation. “It'd be rude to leave already, especially after they went through the trouble of getting us the tickets short-noticed and everything.”

Fionn nods.

“Alright, yeah,” he says. “I do like the music.”

“Me too,” Harry agrees. “I always want to do more with orchestras but I'm never quite sure what, or how.”

“Just try it, I suppose. There's got to be people who've done it where you liked what they did. So work out why you liked it, or copy it and go from there or something.”

“Learning by doing?” Harry asks, smiling a little.

Fionn shrugs.

“Yeah, I don't really know how else you would do it. You have to hear it to know if it's what you want, don't you?”

Harry hums his agreement.

“Yeah, that's true.”

“Are you planning on going back into the studio any time soon?” Fionn asks.

Harry shakes his head.

“No. I want to finish the tour first,” he says. “I mean, I write something sometimes, as you know. But I don't want to do studio things on the go unless I feel like I really need to get this track down right now. But I think it's probably better to let things sit for a while anyway. Come back to them and see what you think then.”

Fionn nods along.

“Orchestras are difficult to get into a hotel bathroom studio anyway,” he grins.

Harry snorts a laugh, and then reaches over to take Fionn's hand beneath the cover of the box' balustrade, fingertips dancing along the length of Fionn's fingers before slipping into the gaps between them, warm and solid and something for Fionn to concentrate on during the second act, their fingers dancing together almost as intricately as the dancers on stage.

“I'm sorry this was a flop,” Harry says when they're back in the car that's going to drive them to the airport.

Fionn shrugs.

“It was still nice doing something together,” he says. “You couldn't know the production was going to be lacklustre.”

“Still, I wanted you to have a good time,” Harry pouts.

Fionn leans in and kisses Harry, glad for the partition.

“I had a good time. Did you?”

“I did,” Harry sighs. “Kinda feel like we could've just put on The Nutcracker on the sofa back home though.”

Fionn laughs.

“We can do that next time you feel like some ballet.”

“It's so impressive, athletically!” Harry says. “I want to like it for that reason alone but most of it is just so boring.”

“Just don't mention that to Tom or his brother,” Fionn says with a grin that Harry reciprocates.

“Didn't plan on it.”

Fionn yawns and turns to look out the window, Stockholm flying past them like any other city.

He wonders, sometimes, what One Direction must have been like. Not that Harry never talks about it, but it's something that very obviously isn't really something you can properly explain to people. The enormity of it, the way the whole world starts to blend into a stream of hotels, stages, and faces. How you can go everywhere without ever having been anywhere. The tight friendship and hard feelings.

But sometimes, when Fionn's just rushing past the lights of a city he hasn't really seen, he wonders what it would be like if that were a different city every day. What that would feel like. If it would make the world feel small, or if would make you feel small yourself.

“Still with me?” Harry asks into the quiet.

Fionn yawns into the back of his hand and turns around to face him.

“Yeah, sorry. Just not used to this jet-setting lifestyle yet.”

Harry smiles.

“It's something,” he says, and reaches over for Fionn's hand again.

Fionn gives it willingly, letting Harry trace the length of his fingers with his own, curling his toes inside his expensive shoes against the feeling that races along his nerves when Harry brushes his fingers against the sensitive skin between his fingers, along the lines of his palm, and then unbuttons the cuff of his shirt to draw figures over his wrist and up under his sleeve.

He's just looking at Fionn, green eyes heavy in the dark, the rhythmic streaks of light from outside illuminating him like something out of a story or a film, and Fionn gets caught in watching him. In the sensation on his skin and the ringing in his ears. Doesn't notice the way his breathing goes shallow until Harry leans in a little further and brings his hand up from Fionn's to his lips. Touches them gently and pushes inside in a way that forces Fionn's eyes shut against the sudden rush of heat that lights him up inside.

“You know what the best thing about a private plane is?” Harry asks quietly, pulling his fingers back out of Fionn's mouth and leaving a wet trail down over his chin and neck.

Fionn shakes his head as Harry deftly undoes his tie and the top few buttons on his shirt, slipping his hand inside and finding that ridiculous piercing Fionn let him put on him earlier before they left.

“It's a lot easier to join the mile high club. I can get you in, if you want.”

Fionn grins and shakes his head a little, but leans in for a kiss.

“That was such a terrible line,” he whispers just before their lips touch.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, breaking their kiss for a moment. “I'm pretty sure it still worked, though.”

Fionn shakes his head again.

“Not the line,” he says, grabbing Harry by the back of the neck. “You work.”

Harry grins into the kiss, clearly pleased with himself, and Fionn tries to ignore how the seatbelts make this whole exercise a lot less fun than it could be. Still, with Harry's mouth on his and his fingers teasing at the piercing, it's not half bad either.


	10. ten Lords a-leaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hugs, aristocratic breakfast, and a trampoline

The following morning it's Harry's warm hand stroking up his arm and his soft mouth kissing Fionn's cheek that wakes him. As it should, frankly. Even with the limited mornings they've woken in the same bed, Harry waking first feels familiar.

“Good morning,” Harry sing-songs, and Fionn rolls over into his touch with a smile pulling on his face, blinking his bleary eyes open.

“Morning,” he mumbles in return, and lets Harry press a kiss to his lips.

“I need you to come to the window for a moment,” Harry says quietly, that mischievous twinkle alight in his eyes.

“Oh god, what did you do,” Fionn says, and pushes himself upright on his hands, the world shifting a little too slowly. Harry steadies him with a hand on his arm, and then hands him a sweatshirt to put on.

“Nothing bad, I promise,” Harry says, and goes over to throw the window open, leaning outside a little to-- wave at someone?

Fionn slips on the sweatshirt, runs a hand through his hair, and puts on his glasses before joining Harry at the window.

Below it, there are ten old men dressed to the nines lined up next to a trampoline.

“What the fuck?” Fionn breathes.

Harry laughs and pulls him in with an arm around his waist. Friends of Harry's, then.

“Take it away, Robert!” he calls down to them.

One of the men, last in line, gives him a joking but exact salute and then turns towards the other men. He lifts his arms like he's counting them in and then they all start singing, baritone voices drifting up to the window.

“On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...”

“Ten Lords a-leaping!” the first man in line sings and then takes a running start at the trampoline, leaping in the air and waving up at the window.

“Nine ladies dancing!” the second one goes on, and follows the first through the run-up and jump.

“Eight maids a-milking,” the third adds, follows, and so on it goes until there's only one – Robert, right? - is left.

“And a partridge in a pear tree!” he sings with great gusto and salutes again before he too, runs, and leaps with the help of the trampoline. He stumbles a bit on the landing, but his friends steady him and then there's laughter before they all turn around to wave up at the window.

Harry breaks out into applause and shouts of “bravo!”, whistling with this fingers in his mouth. Fionn joins the clapping, still completely bewildered.

“I'll be right down, Robert! How about a cup of tea?!”

Robert waves up and nods, and Harry leans back, closing the window again.

“Who the fuck are they?” Fionn asks, mind still too foggy to fully wrap around what the hell just happened.

“Ten Lords a-leaping,” Harry says with a bright grin and kisses Fionn on the mouth again before scampering from the room.

“Come downstairs when you're dressed! I'm going to make them some tea and toast!” he calls over his shoulder.

Fionn sits back down on the edge of the bed and tries to wrap his head around what just happened. The men certainly looked like Lords, with their tuxes and white ties. Where in the world did Harry even find ten Lords to actually go a-leaping on a trampoline while singing a silly Christmas carol?!

He can hear Harry bringing them all into the dining room or somewhere downstairs, happy chatter carrying up to the bedroom, and buries his face in his hands. On the one hand, he's grinning because what the fuck. But on the other hand he can't believe he's being forced to interact with ten lords first thing in the morning. Sure, they're just people, but are they really?

Heaving a sigh, Fionn gets up from the bed again and goes to have a quick shower, giving his hair a much-needed rinse after the way Harry's run his hands through it last night for literally hours. He breezes through the bathroom, and switches the underwear and sweatshirt for a nice pair of jeans and one of Harry's jumpers. Checking that his glasses don't look too dirty, Fionn makes his way downstairs, and puts on a smile before he meets Harry and his guests in the dining room.

“Fionn!” Harry calls immediately, and gets up from his chair to greet him with a kiss to the cheek, guiding him around the table to come sit next to Harry with a hand low on his back.

The ten Lords all smile at them jovially, and Fionn somehow feels like he woke up in the wrong film. Surely he's not in “Help, there are ten aristocrats in my boyfriend's dining room”.

“So, how did you like the performance,” Harry asks, with a smile, and at least Fionn knows how to play this game.

“It was spectacular! How on Earth did you arrange it?”

Harry launches into an explanation of enlisting Robert – Ben's father, Ruby's grandfather, and Fionn feels like he should have worked that one out, but he completely forgot Ben was a Lord's son when he met him the other week, the same way he forgets just how filthy rich Harry is – and Robert finding a few friends who were willing to jump on a trampoline one morning.

“If it's in the service of true love,” Robert says with a twinkle in his eyes, “how could anyone deny such a delightful request?”

Fionn laughs along, and then smiles a bit more gently when Harry catches his eye. There's no denying that Harry definitely did this out of love. Harry has been giving him gifts of varying silliness and magnitude for ten days now, and Fionn doesn't want to appear ungrateful. He's just not so good with being made to socialise first thing in the morning. Harry probably wanted to do him a favour by letting him sleep in, but it would have probably been easier if he'd woken him an hour or two before their guests arrived, sleep be damned.

“Yes, who could,” he agrees and leans over to peck Harry on the cheek, watching delightedly as Harry's eyes widen with surprised pleasure.

Fionn takes a deep breath and decides to just let go of the surprise and the shakiness and the slight annoyance. It's not worth it.

Two hours later they're alone again anyway, stacking cups and plates into the dishwasher side by side.

“I can't believe we just had ten Lords over for breakfast. Didn't think I'd ever meet one aristocrat, never mind ten,” Fionn says, and closes the dishwasher again when they're done.

Harry laughs and sweeps him into an embrace.

“Technically you met them from your window in your underwear,” he points out.

Fionn groans and puts his face in his hands, leaning against Harry's shoulder.

“Don't remind me,” he mumbles, muffled by his hands.

Harry laughs some more.

“There are so many better things we can do in that bedroom, you know,” Fionn says and tips his face up because he hasn't kissed Harry properly yet.

Harry hums and obligingly leans down to kiss Fionn.

“But thank you,” Fionn whispers just before their lips touch. “Seriously, you're amazing.”

Fionn can practically taste the smile on Harry's lips when they kiss, wraps his arms around Harry's neck and gives when Harry presses closer. Opens his mouth to his tongue and tastes the sugary tea he had on it. Harry presses closer still and Fionn moves back until he bumps into the counter, puts his hands on the edge and hops up when Harry grabs him by the back of his thighs and lifts, spreads his legs so Harry can move between them.

“This one suits you too,” Harry says, rubbing the hem of the jumper Fionn pulled on between his fingers.

“It's because you have such great taste,” Fionn says, bumping their foreheads together playfully.

“Well, I did pick you,” Harry says, pressing his grin against Fionn's mouth.

“Oh, is that what happened? You picked me?”

Harry nods and kisses Fionn again, slips his tongue into Fionn's mouth and pulls him so far to the edge of the counter that Fionn has to wrap his legs around his hips so he won't slip off, shift his weight a little.

“Like a sweet, ripe peach,” Harry mumbles in between kisses, and Fionn can't help but laugh.

“Sure,” he says between kisses, Harry's hands sneaking up underneath his jumper to get to more of Fionn's skin. If it were up to Harry they'd probably never wear clothes.

Fionn lets him slip the jumper off over his head even as he shivers in the cool air, grinning a little when he catches sight of the dining table over Harry's shoulder.

“Hm?” Harry asks.

“Nothing, just-- ten Lords. I didn't think I'd ever meet one, never mind ten,” Fionn says.

“Well, I didn't know nine of them before today if that makes you feel any better,” Harry says and ducks his head to kiss along the line of Fionn's shoulder.

“A little,” Fionn teases. “It's just so absurd, you know?”

“Absurd?”

“Hm,” Fionn says, closing his eyes to the sweep of Harry hand over his bare skin. “Aristocracy. It's hard to remember we still do that sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, leaning back a little, tiny frown on his brow when Fionn opens his eyes again.

“Just… that there are political positions in this country you can only hold if you're born into the right families. That's pretty backwards.”

Harry's frown deepens a little.

“It's not their fault. You met Ben, and Robert now--”

“No, yeah, I know! I don't mean to say they're bad people,” Fionn hurries to reassure, frowning himself now at the way Harry bristles over this. “I just mean that holding up a system that treats birth like a, a merit, or a value by which to be judged on whether or not you're fit to participate in government is absurd.”

“So you can't have breakfast with them?” Harry asks, taking a step back.

“What? No, that's not what I said,” Fionn says, grabbing the jumper back from Harry and slipping it back on.

“Given how expensive that was, you probably shouldn't be wearing it,” Harry bites, and Fionn stops short.

“What did I say?” Fionn asks. “I don't understand what I did to make you this mad.”

Harry runs a frustrated hand through his hair and takes a steadying breath.

“I just-- I wanted to do something nice, but--”

“I'm sorry,” Fionn says immediately, stepping forward to reach for Harry, but only dares rest his hands on Harry's chest for a moment, before that, too, feels like an imposition.

“I didn't mean to make you feel like I don't appreciate it. I do, I promise.”

“It doesn't feel like it,” Harry says.

Fionn sighs and bites his lip, a nervous habit he's been trying to kick for years.

“I just wasn't expecting it, when I woke up. You know I don't do well with mornings, and that goes double for mornings filled with ten strangers,” he says. “I promise I didn't mean to start a political revolution or anything, I just felt out of my depth.”

Harry sighs long and deep and then nods.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Sorry I overreacted.”

“It's fine.”

“No, it's just-- a sore spot, I suppose. Criticism of someone's position in life.”

“Privilege, you mean?”

Harry sighs again.

“You know, for most people it's a theoretical exercise, what they'd do if they were in a position to. Turns out it's not that easy when you actually are in that position.”

Fionn smiles and steps closer again, leaning up to kiss Harry on the mouth.

“I believe that,” he says. “And I didn't mean to lecture or anything. I know you know these things. I'm just trying to work through a morning where I genuinely saw ten Lords a-leaping on a trampoline, okay?”

A smile flits over Harry's face quickly, and he puts his hands back on Fionn's waist, warm and steadying, calming the rush of worried confusion that simmers just underneath Fionn's skin.

“Okay,” he says and leans in for another kiss, this one a little slower, a little more lingering.

“Okay?” Fionn asks again anyway.

Harry nods and kisses him again, pulling Fionn into a hug and swaying them side to side in the middle of the kitchen. Fionn takes a deep breath, and brings his arms up to hug Harry back.


	11. Eleven pipers piping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kisses, group hugs, and cars

Watching Harry drive is one of the things Fionn never thought he'd enjoy doing, but he does. Harry seems so incredibly relaxed behind the wheel of his car in a way that Fionn isn't used to from-- anyone, really. His dad just seems like he wants to get to wherever, and his mates are either terrified, or faking bravado, or overly excited. Tired too. Most people look tired when they drive.

Harry looks like he's exactly where he wants to be, even in the midst of London traffic. He honestly looks good enough to photograph, but Fionn hasn't quite reached that level of ridiculous yet. And anyway, he's got quite a good memory.

“So, you're really not telling me where we're going?”

Harry grins to himself and lets his eyes cut over to Fionn for a moment of amused eye contact.

“Nope,” he says.

“Just say it's nothing to do with bagpipes,” Fionn asks.

Harry laughs.

“Bagpipes? How did you come up with that?”

“Well, 'pipers piping' doesn't really bring much to mind except kidnapping and bagpipes,” Fionn says with a shrug, smiling to himself when it makes Harry laugh again.

“It's a really good thing I've got a bit more of an imagination than you then,” Harry teases.

“That's certainly one way of looking at it.”

Harry gasps and puts on faux-hurt hand over his chest for a moment before using it to signal a turn.

“You hurt me, Fionnley.”

“I'm sure I do” Fionn drawls.

“You need to trust me a bit more,” Harry says, and reaches his left hand over to grab Fionn's right. “I promise I'm not ambushing you with ten strangers again.”

Fionn huffs a quiet laugh and holds on to Harry's hand.

“I really didn't mean to--”

“No, I know. It's alright,” Harry says. “I should have thought it through. I know you're not big on groups of strangers or mornings, so I don't know why I thought combining them would be a good idea.”

“It was still sweet,” Fionn insists. “I can't quite believe you actually found ten Lords willing to jump on a trampoline for a pop star and his boyfriend.”

Harry snorted a laugh and squeezed hand.

“Old men are all a bit silly. And who can deny true love, right?”

“Right,” Fionn echoes, and lifts Harry's hand in his to press a kiss to it. It may not be 'true love', but it's definitely love.

True to Harry's word, when they've taken the elevator up all the way to the sixth floor penthouse apartment where whatever it is they're doing awaits them, Fionn isn't met with strange faces, but rather a few familiar ones.

“Fionn!” Barry is the first to shout, and then before Fionn's really had time to brace himself he jumps up on Fionn's shoulders, momentum making Fionn stumble.

“Oh my god,” Fionn says, and hugs Barry back without thinking. “What the fuck.”

“Language, Fionn,” Jack tuts, arm slung casually around a pretty redhead that Fionn has never met before.

Tom comes over to pile onto Barry and Fionn as well, leaving his girlfriend standing with Aneurin and his wife who both laugh a little, but keep their distance.

“Guys, you gotta let me breathe,” Fionn says eventually, from in the middle of a tangle of limbs.

“Breathing is for people who don't vanish for months on end,” Tom says, keeping his arms wrapped tight around Fionn.

“I didn't vanish, I was in Morocco! Working!” Fionn protests. “Why isn't anyone squashing Harry? He makes you email him!”

“But he doesn't leave us on read,” Barry points out.

“Because you don't get read notifications for emails,” Fionn groans but accepts his fate.

Harry chuckles and claps the two of them on the backs before going over to say hello to the others. Tom and Barry let him waddle over to say hi to Jack and Aneurin eventually, hanging off him and making it as difficult as possible, but Fionn has maybe missed this a little. Jack's girlfriend's name is Rose, a fact that lights up Harry's eyes so immediately that Fionn dismisses subtlety and elbows him in the side in warning.

Rose laughs and waves him off.

“Oh, don't worry, you're not the first to point it out,” she says.

Harry gives her a charming smile and shrug.

“It's a very hard-to-miss coincidence,” he says, half-apologetic. Fionn barely manages not to roll his eyes.

“Oh, it's not a coincidence. I only date Jacks,” Rose jokes.

Harry laughs, and Fionn catches the completely besotted look of adoration on Jack's face, filing it away for later. He has absolutely no doubt the boys will tease him about Harry at some point, so it's good to have some ammunition to fire back.

“Well, now that we're all here, how about we get started?” a woman in a white chef's jacket and her reddish-blond hair in a tight ponytail says. She makes an inviting gesture to what Fionn only notices is a large kitchen with several work stations behind her.

“What are we doing?” Fionn turns to Harry to ask quietly.

“We're making meringue kisses,” Harry beams and pecks Fionn on the tip of his nose.

“Alright,” Fionn says, and then turns towards the woman who smiles at Harry and holds out her hand.

“I'm Maria, hello,” she says.

“Harry,” Harry replies and shakes her hand. “Lovely to meet you in person.”

“And you as well,” Maria says and then turns to Fionn. “And you must be Fionn.”

“I must,” Fionn agrees, and shakes her hand with a smile of his own.

The baking is messy, and loud, and Maria seems a little overwhelmed with them all at times, but Fionn's quite sure that Harry's paying her well enough to deal with a little raucousness. And in the end, the only piping comes out of piping bags, and they get to go home with bags of meringue kisses (after a good deal of waiting and a batch of muffins to spend the time).

So if Fionn counts up all the kisses they take home, and straddles Harry's lap to give him as many back, that seems like a fair deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bake yourself happy!](https://www.bakewithmaria.com/) aka Maria is a real person


	12. twelve drummers drumming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musical travesties, pyromancy, and Goldeneye.

Fionn never thought he'd like a fireplace. They always seemed impractical, and like a big hassle. You've got to keep all the wood or whatever you're burning somewhere, and they don't actually do much to heat a room, or at least not very quickly, not the open ones like this one. And they're so cheesy, aren't they? That whole sitting in front the fireplace thing is so incredibly overdone in movies. And yet you're always somehow too hot because you're too close or too cold because you're too far away, or worse, one side of your body is hot and the other cold.

Also, Fionn doesn't really like fire. He's not scared of fire in general, as such. But he has a healthy respect for it. In a sea of water you can try to swim and float and hold your breath. In a see of fire, you're just fucked. There's nothing you can do. Probably Fionn's not meant to think “that shit can kill me” when looking at a small fire in a fireplace, but he does.

Somehow though, over the course of December, he's come to like it. Love it even.

He's figured out to take his jumper off if he gets too close, or at least push the sleeves up. He knows how close to sit so he doesn't get too hot and how to let it warm his feet all toasty and then pull them back before they get so hot they start self-regulating and he gets all sweaty-chilly feet again. Plus, it's kind of pretty, isn't it? It looks so alive, famously and poetically fills all the criteria of being alive, and when it's been on for hours and the wood glows with that bright orange heat, there's always that slight temptation to touch it. Not that Fionn's going to. He's not an idiot.

“There you are,” Harry says, walking into the room with his hands behind his back, smiling down at Fionn who's sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames.

“Here I am,” Fionn confirms, looking back up at him.

“Sorry that phone call took a bit longer.”

“It's alright,” Fionn says with shrug. “I kept myself entertained.”

“By staring into the fire?”

Fionn hums in confirmation.

“People used to look for visions of the future in fire, you know?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, in Ancient Athens. Granted, mostly virginal temple priestesses or something,” Fionn says, and Harry snorts a laugh next to him. Fionn elbows him in the side.

“So what does the fire tell you?” Harry asks, humour painted all over his face.

“I'm going to meet tall, dark, handsome stranger,” Fionn says, grinning.

Harry's face immediately slips into a deep pout.

“Hey,” he complains.

Fionn laughs and leans over to kiss him.

“Maybe I did it wrong,” Fionn allows.

“Beause you're not an Athenian virgin priestess?”

“Might have something to do with it.”

“Shame,” Harry says and kisses him again. “You'll have to make do with me.”

Fionn sighs heavily and shakes his head.

“Honestly what will I do. You're charming, and sweet, and handsome, and rich, and you seem to enjoy making me happy, and the sex is fantastic…”

Fionn sighs again.

“Just dreadful, to tell the truth.”

Harry laughs at him a little but then beams and pecks Fionn on the cheek.

“You're pretty charming yourself.”

“There's a little voice in the back of my head I've trained to say 'what would Harry do'...” Fionn grins.

Harry laughs and shoves his shoulder, looking almost unusually bashful.

“No, there's not.”

“You can't prove that!”

There is, actually. Fionn just never needs it when he's with Harry. He supposes Harry just makes him be sappy with his presence alone.

“Alright, well, I've got a gift for you,” Harry says, effectively changing the topic.

“A gift? So we're not jetting off to Morocco for some tea, or skydiving to save the whales, or---”

Harry rolls his eyes at him and then pulls what he's been hiding behind his back out to hand to Fionn.

“A vinyl record? You know I don't have a record player,” Fionn says.

“Which is a travesty we're going to get to in a minute, but also, I have one, so.”

Fionn glances up at Harry and studies him for a few moments.

“Hm. I have spent a lot of time here recently,” he says.

All of it since they've gotten back from Anne's place. They hadn't discussed it, and Fionn hasn't really been keeping track, but it's been a good week and a half now. He should probably go home, if only to fetch some clothes and empty out his fridge.

“I like having you,” Harry says.

“Admit it, you just want to keep this to yourself,” he says, undoing the ribbon. “This isn't a gift for me at all, it's a gift for yourself.”

Harry laughs.

“You've seen right through my dastardly plan.”

“Can't hide from me, Mr. Goldeneye,” Fionn says distractedly, pulling off the wrapping paper too.

Harry snorts a laugh.

“I don't think his name was Goldeneye. Wasn't that the satellite?”

“I really don't know,” Fionn says, careful not to set the paper down next to the fire. He turns the record over, met with a bright red cover and large black lettering.

“ _Twelve Drummers Drumming_? Seriously?”

Harry grins when Fionn looks up at it.

“Happened to find it,” he says with a shrug. “Too good to pass up.”

“Are they any good?” Fionn asks, turning the record around to the back again, looking at the track listing.

“I have no idea. I only know one song. They're an electronic rock band from 80s West Germany.”

“Well,” Fionn says and hands the record to Harry. “Put it on.”

Harry grins and takes the record, getting up to walk across the room to put it on. Fionn for his part crumples up the paper and tosses it onto the fire carefully, watching it burn up. The ribbon he wraps around his wrist for lack of anything better to do with it at the moment. He's not really in the mood to get up and throw it away in the kitchen, and putting it over on the coffee table doesn't really strike him as enough of an improvement to leaving it on the floor. Might as well just wrap it around his arm.

He stretches out on the soft carpet on his side, back to the fire, and Harry comes to lie down opposite him. One of his arms pillows his head, the other one reaches out to stroke Fionn's cheek.

“Hi,” he says.

Fionn grins.

“Hi.”

“I'm glad you're here,” Harry says, shuffling closer until he can nudge their foreheads and noses together, arm propped up on his elbow and the tips of his fingers playing with the strands of hair curling around Fionn's ears. The record's not half bad, from what Fionn can tell from the first half minute of it.

Between the fire and Harry, Fionn's kept toasty warm on all sides, happy smile playing around his lips so naturally he doesn't even really notice it until Harry's finger traces the outline of his lips. Fionn presses a small kiss to the pad of it when he's done, and then nudges closer for a real kiss.

“I'm glad I'm here too.”

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That's it. Here we are, at the end of ~~all things~~ this fic. I'm glad you made it here with me, and I hope you've enjoyed your journey! :D Happy Fionnmas, everyone.


End file.
